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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
JAMES   J.   MC   BRIDE 


JESS  &   CO 

BY 

J.  J.    BELL 

AUTHOR  OP 

"LATER  ADVENTURES  OP  WEB  MACGREEGOR" 
"WEE  MACGREEGOR"  "ETHEL" 

ETC.    ETC. 


HARPER   &    BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS     NEW     YORK 
AND     LONDON      *       1904 


Copyright,  1904,  by  J.  J.  BKLL. 

All  rights  rtstrvtd. 
Published  September,  1904. 


PK 

(000*3 


TO 
MY   MOTHER 


71249O 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  ROSES  AND  RUE i 

II.  IN  THE  WOOD 29 

III.  A  WAY  OUT 51 

IV.  AUNT  WALLACE  AT  HOME      .     .  74 

V.  THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  GLASGOW  97 

VI.  A  LITTLE  WARMTH  AND  A  BLAZE  119 

VII.  "PROFIT  AND  Loss"      ....  143 

VIII.  SOME   FRIENDS   AND   AN   ENEMY  171 

IX.  FIGURES,  BUT  NOT  ALL  DRY      .  196 

X.  MR.  OGILVY  HAS  CUSTOMERS       .  221 

XI.  "THERE   WAS   SADNESS   IN   KIN- 

LOCHAN" 250 

XII.  HOME  AGAIN 277 


Jess    &    Co. 

i 

Roses    and    Rue 

DAVID  HOUSTON,  joiner  and 
glazier  by  trade,  gardener  by 
nature,  stood  slackly  in  the  July  after- 
noon sunshine,  admiring  the  "glory" 
roses  that  budded  and  bloomed  on  the 
south  gable  of  his  cottage.  With  lazy, 
loving  eyes  he  gazed  at  them;  and  now 
and  then  he  drew  a  puff  from  the  brier 
pipe  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth  and 
slowly  emitted  a  thin  stream  of  smoke 
with  something  like  a  sigh  of  content- 
ment. Thrice,  with  an  effort,  he  had 
moved  away,  and  thrice  he  had  re- 
traced the  few  steps  and  returned  to  his 
roses. 

The  sound  of  an  opening  door  caused 
him  to  start,  and  he  grew  red  in  the  face 
as  his  wife,  bearing  a  bundle  of  "wash- 


Jess    &    Co. 

ing"  to  be  bleached,  came  round  the 
corner  of  the  cottage. 

"Oh,  David!"  she  exclaimed — she 
usually  called  him  "Davie" — "you've 
surely  forgot  the  time!  It's  after  three." 

"Is  it,  Jess?"  he  said,  with  genuine 
enough  surprise  in  his  voice,  adding, 
feebly,  "I  didna  think  it  was  as  late." 

The  wife  of  two  months  regarded  him 
with  grave  eyes,  and  shook  her  head. 
"I  thought,"  she  said,  after  a  short 
pause — "I  thought  you  had  gone  back 
to  the  shop  an  hour  ago  at  least.  You 
said  you  were  going." 

"  Ay.  But  come  an'  see  the  roses,  Jess." 

"I'll  see  them  at  the  right  time — 
when  your  work's  bye  for  the  day, 
David,"  she  replied,  seriously. 

"Och,  lass,  ye  needna  be  that  strict 
wi'  yer  man,"  he  retorted,  good-humor- 
edly.  "There's  naethin'  daein'  at  the 
shop  this  weather.  Here,  Jess,  did  ye 
ever  see  a  bonnier — " 

"There'll  never  be  anything  doing  at 
the  shop  unless  the  master's  there,"  said 
Mrs.  Houston,  firmly.  "It's  not  right, 
David." 

"But  Angus  is  there." 

"Angus!  and  what  can  Angus  do?" 

"Weel,  he's  no'  fit  for  muckle  work, 
but — but  he  can  tak'  orders." 


Jess    &    Co. 

"And  forget  them." 

"Puir  buddy,  he's  gettin'  auld,"  said 
David,  gently. 

"That's  just  all  the  more  reason  why 
you  should  be  looking  after  things  for 
yourself.  Oh,  Davie,  Davie,  I  doubt 
you're  too  easy-going!" 

Her  husband  looked  uncomfortable, 
for  he  felt  the  truth  of  her  remark, 
though  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  not 
any  more  easy-going  than  the  other 
tradesmen  of  little  Kinlochan  by  the  sea. 

Mrs.  Houston  broke  the  awkward 
silence,  speaking  more  lightly  than  she 
felt.  " Off  you  go!"  she  cried,  laughing, 
"off  you  go  this  minute,  Davie  lad,  or 
I'll  have  to  start  the  joinering  myself!" 

His  pipe  had  gone  out,  and  he  slipped 
it  into  his  j  acket  pocket .  ' '  Ye  see ,  lass ," 
he  said,  apologetically,  "the  Ardmartin 
show  is  on  Saturday,  an'  I  canna  but 
think  o'  the  roses." 

"Yes,  I  know,  Davie,"  she  returned, 
with  sudden  sympathy.  "You're  not 
to  think  I  don't  care  about  your  roses 
—but — but — "  . 

"I'm  a  lazy,  stupit  fella!"  he  in- 
terrupted. "I'll  awa'  to  ma  work." 
And  he  hurried  off  as  if  from  temptation. 

He  turned  at  the  garden  gate  and 
waved  his  hand  to  her,  and  she  waved 
3 


Jess    &    Co. 

hers  to  him,  smiling.  But  as  soon  as 
he  disappeared  her  young  face  grew 
thoughtful,  and  she  sighed  as  she 
started  to  spread  the  items  of  her  washing 
on  the  green.  When  she  had  laid  out 
the  last  of  the  bundle  she  rose  erect, 
stretching  out  her  arms  and  forcing  back 
her  shoulders,  for  she  was  tired  and  stiff 
with  the  day's  work,  which  had  begun 
between  five  and  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

A  short  chuckle  sounded  behind  her. 

"Aunt  Wallace!"  she  cried,  turning 
and  endeavoring  to  smile  a  cheerful 
welcome. 

"  Ye're  learnin',  wumman,  ye're  learn- 
in',"  observed  her  relative,  staring  at  the 
white-patched  green.  "Nae  doot  ye'll 
dae  better  next  time,"  she  added,  bend- 
ing her  elderly  but  still  active  body  to 
examine  at  close  quarters  a  specimen 
of  her  niece's  washing.  "An'  hoo's 
yer  guidman?"  she  inquired,  rising  at 
last  from  an  inspection  so  lengthy,  so 
keen,  and  so  patronizing  that  the  young 
woman  could  scarcely  restrain  her 
temper. 

"He's  quite  well,  thank  you,  aunt," 
she  replied,  controlling  herself. 

Mrs.  Wallace  smiled  rather  sourly. 
"I  thocht  he  micht  be  no'  vera  weel, 


Jess    &    Co. 

seein'  that  he  needs  aboot  three  'oors 
to  tak'  his  dinner  in." 

"Did  you  meet  him  on  the  road?" 

"I  seen  him.  But  he  never  let  on  he 
seen  me." 

"Perhaps  I — I  kept  him  a  little  late 
to-day,"  said  Jess. 

"Ye  micht  ken  better  nor  dae  that, 
Jessie.  He's  lazy  enough  wi'oot  you 
keepin'  him.  But  his  fayther,  puir  man, 
wis  jist  the  same.  It  bates  me  to  ken 
hoo  his  bit  business  hauds  thegither! 
I  never  seen  his  mither — she  wis  deid 
afore  I  cam'  to  Kinlochan — I've  heard 
she  had  a  sair  time  wi'  her  lazy  man. 
Ay!  an'  I  doot  it's  yersel'  '11  be  haein' 

"Come  into  the  house,  and  I'll  make 
you  a  cup  of  tea,  aunt,"  said  Jess, 
hastily.  "You've  had  a  warm  walk." 

Mrs.  Wallace  lived  in  a  cottage  about 
a  mile  along  the  shore,  to  which  she  had 
retired,  on  a  small  annuity,  on  the  death 
of  her  husband  some  ten  years  ago.  But 
she  was  Glasgow  born  and  bred,  and  had 
never  really  got  into  sympathy  with  the 
Kinlochan  natives  and  their  ways.  It 
was  during  the  not  infrequent  visits  to 
her  aunt,  however,  that  Jess  had  come 
to  know  David  Houston,  and  although 
the  old  lady  was  fond  of  holding  up  the 
5 


Jess    &    Co. 

man's  obvious  faults  to  the  girl,  she  had 
never  actually  attempted  to  interfere 
with  the  course  of  true  love.  "  Efter  a', 
he's  a  dacent  lad,"  she  would  say  to 
herself,  "an'  maybe  Jess  '11  male'  a  man 
o'  him.  There's  naethin'  peely-wally 
aboot  him,  onywey." 

Mrs.  Houston  conducted  her  aunt  in- 
doors and  into  the  parlor,  with  its  old- 
fashioned  furniture  of  her  husband's 
parents,  relieved  by  the  modern  dainti- 
nesses which  she  had  provided  just 
before  and  since  her  marriage,  and  by 
the  flowers  which  the  garden,  small 
though  it  was,  generously  afforded. 

"Ye're  the  yin  fur  falderals,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Wallace,  with  a  critical  stare 
round  the  room.  ' '  Ye're  like  yer  mither 
wi'  yer  e'e  fur  useless  things  an'  yer 
fine  wey  o'  speakin'.  That's  the  warst 
o'  a  lassie  takin'  a  man's  job  in  an 
office,  an'  gaun'  oot  at  nicht  to  classes. 
Mphm!  But  every  lass  nooadays  is  a 
young  leddy,  an'  ower  fine  fur  the  things 
that  wis  guid  enough  fur  her  fayther 
an'  mither.  'Deed,  ye  sud  hae  mairrit 
yin  o'  thon  fancy  chaps  that  dae 
naethin'  but  pu'  doon  their  cuffs  an' 
dance  aboot  the  flure  o'  the  big  drapers 
in  Glesca.  Yin  o'  thon  chaps  wud  shair- 
ly  please  ye  better  nor  a  plain  jiner." 
6 


Jess    &    Co. 

Jess,  having  heard  all  this  before, 
laughed  good-naturedly,  and  left  the 
room  to  prepare  tea. 

When  she  returned  with  the  neatly 
spread  tray,  her  aunt  was  still  in  her 
critical  humor. 

"  I  suppose  ye  ca'  this  efternune  tea!" 
she  said,  with  a  sniff.  "I'm  extremely 
vexed  I  didna  bring  ma  veesitin'  cairds 
wi'  me,  yer  ladyship!  But  I  left  them 
in  ma  cairriage." 

"You  can  send  the  footman  up  after- 
wards," retorted  Jess,  calmly,  as  she 
poured  out  the  tea. 

"Ye're  ower  smairt,  wumman,"  said 
Mrs.  Wallace,  with  her  short  chuckle. 
"Weel,  weel,  seein'  ye've  made  the  tea, 
I  suppose  I'll  need  to  tak'  it."  And  she 
took  it  with  considerable  relish. 

"An'  hoo  dae  ye  like  keepin'  a  hoose 
efter  keepin'  books?"  she  inquired,  pres- 
ently. " It's  a  change  fur  ye.  Eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  her  niece,  softly.  "Of 
course  I  like  it,  aunt,"  she  added,  some- 
what sharply. 

"Mphm!  They  a'  say  that  at  the 
stairt.  Yer  hauns  '11  no'  be  as  genteel- 
like  as  they  wis  in  the  office." 

"I  don't  mind  that,"  said  Jess,  not 
absolutely  truthfully. 

"Ye  canna  rub  an'  scrub  an'  dae  yer 
7 


Jess    &    Co. 

ain  washin'  an'  keep  yer  hauns  like  a 
doochess's.  Whit  wey  did  Davie  no* 
get  some  puir  buddy  to  dae  the  bit 
washin'  fur  ye?" 

"He  wanted  to,  but  I  wouldn't  let 
him.  I  can  manage  it  fine  myself.  It 
isn't  such  a  big  job,  you  know." 

"Weel,  I'm  shair  I'm  gled  ye 're 
pleased.  Thenk  ye,  jist  hauf  a  cup.  But 
I  doot  ye're  daein'  mair  nor  yer  share. 
Ye 're  daein'  mair  nor  yer  man  to  keep 
the  hoose  gaun." 

"Oh  no,  Aunt  Wallace;  Davie  works 
very  hard." 

"Ay — when  he  yinst  gets  stairtit," 
said  the  old  lady,  shutting  her  mouth 
with  a  snap.  "He's  jist  like  a'  the 
ither  men  in  Kinlochan — " 

"He's  not!" 

"Haud  yer  tongue!  I've  leeved  here 
fur  ten  year  come  Martinmas,  an'  I  ken 
whit  I'm  talkin'  aboot.  Gi'e  a  Kin- 
lochan man  a  job  to  dae,  an'  if  he's  his 
ain  maister — like  yer  ain  man — he'll 
footer  aboot  an'  footer  aboot  till  he  has 
to  dae't  or  loss  it  a'  thegither.  Ay; 
an'  mony  a  job  here's  been  lost  a' 
thegither!  Whisht!  I'm  no  feenished 
yet.  I  grant  ye,  the  job's  dune  quick 
an'  weel  when  yinst  it's  stairtit — but 
mercy  me!  it's  got  to  wait  fur  that! 


Jess    &    Co. 

\ 

Did  I  ever  tell  ye  aboot  auld  Maister 
McDonald's  gate?  Na,  I  didna.  Weel, 
it's  a  parable  fur  the  guidwife  o'  ony 
Kinlochan  man  —  especially  if  he's  a 
jiner — an'  there's  jist  the  yin  jiner  in 
Kinlochan  the  noo  —  mind,  I'm  sayin' 
the  noo — fur  I'm  thinkin'  there's  room 
fur  anither,  if  he's  got  ony  spunk  ava',  in 
the  future.  Och,  ye  needna  flee  up! 
Weel,  auld  Maister  McDonald  bided  in 
the  big  hoose  next  to  ma  wee  yin,  an' 
he  wis  a  rale  kind  auld  man,  an'  mony's 
the  basket  o'  frit  I  had  frae  his  gairden, 
fur  naethin'.  Weel,  it  wisna  lang  efter 
I  cam'  to  Kinlochan  that  his  gate  gaed 
wrang — it  was  auld  like  hissel' — an' 
needit  repairin'.  So  he  sent  fur  the 
jiner — it  was  Davie's  fayther — an'  efter 
twa-three  weeks  the  jiner  cam'  an' 
lukit  at  the  gate,  an'  said  he  wud  get  it 
repaired  wi'oot  delay.  But  the  time 
gaed  bye,  an'  the  jiner  never  cam',  an' 
the  gate  got  waur  an'  waur.  Maister 
McDonald  sent  fur  the  jiner  again,  an' 
the  jiner  cam' — no'  in  a  hurry,  ye  ken 
— an'  said  he  wud  sort  it  wi'oot  delay. 
An'  then  aboot  sax  month  gaed  bye, 
Maister  McDonald  writin'  to  the  jiner 
or  ca'in'  at  his  shope,  an'  the  jiner  aye 
sayin'  he  wud  sort  the  gate  wi'oot  delay. 
I  mind  fine  auld  Maister  McDonald 


Jess    &    Co. 

speakin'  to  me  ower  the  wa',  an'  me 
speirin'  efter  his  health,  fur  I  thocht  he 
wis  lukin'  gey  frail,  an'  him  say  in', 
'Deed,  Mistress  Wallace,  I'm  no'  feelin' 
whit  ye  cud  ca'  extra  herty,  but  a 
creakin'  gate  hings  a  lang  while.'  That 
wis  in  the  simmer,  an'  a  wee  bit  while 
efter  the  New  Year  he  deid  in  his  sleep, 
in  an'  awfu'  stormy  nicht;  an'  when  I 
gaed  oot  in  the  mornin' — no'  kennin'  he 
wis  deid — I  seen  the  gate  lyin'  across 
the  road,  an'  Davie's  fayther  comin' 
alang  the  road  whustlin'  wi'  his  bag  o' 
tools.  He  didna  loss  the  job,  but  he 
never  had  the  face  to  send  in  the 
accoont.  I  dinna  think  he  ever  said 
onythin'  to  Davie  aboot  it,  so  ye  can 
tell  him  the  story  when  he's  no'  ower 
busy.  Ha,  ha!" 

"I'm  sure  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort," 
cried  Jess,  indignantly.  "A  story  like 
that  is  always  exaggerated." 

"That's  ower  big  a  word  fur  an  auld 
wife  like  me,  lassie.  But  every  word 
I've  tell't  ye's  as  true  as  I'm  sittin'  here. 
An'  efter  a',  when  ye  get  to  ken  the 
Kinlochan  folk  ye'll  no'  wunner  at 
onythin'.  I  cud  tell  ye  hoo  Sandy 
Stewart  the  penter  tuk  twa  year  to 
come  to  whitewash  Mistress  Dowie's 
washin'-hoose,  an'  then  near  gaed  daft 
10 


Jess    &    Co. 

when  he  fun'  her  laddie  had  dune  it 
hissel'.  An'  I  cud  tell  ye —  Na!  I'll 
no'  say  ony  mair.  But  mind,  Jess,  an' 
keep  yer  man's  nose  on  the  grindstane. 
He's  ower  fond  o'  growin'  roses'  an' 
pansies  an'  so  on — a'  vera  fine  in  their 
ain  wey,  I  grant  ye — but  no'  the  kin' 
o'  things  that  '11  gi'e  ye  saut  to  yer  kail. 
Na,  na;  ye  maun  luk  efter  yer  man. 
Business  afore  pleesure,  as  the  wise 
wumman  said  when  she  whuppit  her 
wean  afore  gi'ein'  it  gundy.  I'll  jist 
tak'  anither  moothfu'  o'  tea.  I  hope 
ye  can  bile  tatties  as  weel  as  ye  mak' 
tea.  Haud  yer  tongue!  I  wudna  tak' 
yer  tea  if  I  didna  like  it." 

Her  niece  burst  out  laughing,  for  she 
was  not  afraid  of  the  old  lady,  though 
some  of  the  latter's  remarks — not  any 
of  those  about  herself — had  made  her 
hot  with  anger.  "I'll  tell  Da  vie  all 
you've  said,  Aunt  Wallace,"  she  said 
presently,  with  assumed  gravity. 

"Vera  likely!  Wait  till  ye've  been 
mairrit  a  year  or  twa  afore  ye  tell  yer 
man  whit  ither  folk  says  aboot  him. 
Maybe  by  that  time  I'll  hae  somethin* 
guid  to  say.  But  it  depends  on  yersel', 
Jess,  ma  lass.  Whitever  ye  dae  or  say, 
keep  him  awa'  frae  the  roses  an' pansies. 
Weel,  it's  time  I  wis  aff.  I've  twa 
2  ii 


Jess    &    Co. 

ludgers  comin'  the  morn,  so  I'll  maybe 
no'  see  ye  for  a  whiley.  Ma  respec's 
to  yer  guidman,  an'  ye  micht  tell  him 
I'm  needin'  a  new  lock  on  the  coal- 
cellar  door,  but  there's  nae  hurry  fur 
twa-three  year.  Guid-bye  to  ye,  ma 
dearie."  And  Mrs.  Wallace  kissed  her 
niece  quite  affectionately,  if  hurriedly, 
and  made  for  the  door. 

Jess  accompanied  her  to  the  garden 
gate,  watched  her  along  the  road,  and 
then  slowly  retraced  her  steps  to  the 
cottage.  Instead,  however,  of  entering 
the  house  at  once,  she  went  round  to  the 
south  gable  and  spent  a  couple  of  minutes 
lingering  beside  the  roses.  All  her  life 
she  had  loved  flowers,  but  at  a  distance 
— loved  them  without  understanding 
them  as  her  husband  did — and  just  be- 
fore her  marriage,  fagged  with  the  effort 
of  a  city  existence,  she  had  dreamed 
and  told  herself  how  beautiful  and 
peaceful  it  would  be  in  the  little  garden 
by  the  sea  with  the  man  of  her  choice. 
And  now  heavily  upon  her  mind  lay  the 
conviction  that  it  was  her  duty  to  dis- 
courage Davie  in  his  flower-growing, 
and  to  persuade  him,  or  even  force  him, 
to  regard  his  business  as  paramount. 

Her  aunt's  allegations  and  insinuations 
she  realized  were  based  on  truth.  Jess 
12 


Jess    &    Co. 

had  seen  things  for  herself  since  she 
settled  in  Kinlochan,  although  she  had 
at  first  shut  her  eyes  to  the  easy-going 
ways  of  Davie,  or  excused  them  to  her- 
self in  a  sweet,  illogical  fashion.  She 
was  further  aware  that  her  husband — 
he  felt  neither  shame  nor  anxiety  in  the 
fact — had  never  saved  a  penny.  When 
money  was  necessary  he  would  render 
accounts  to  the  people  who  he  thought 
could  pay  them,  and  send  old  Angus 
round  a  day  or  two  later  to  collect  what 
he  could.  If  his  financial  affairs  were 
not  managed  according  to  the  best 
business  methods,  they  were  at  least 
managed  simply.  He  merely  asked  his 
own  from  Peter  and  gave  it  to  Paul, 
when  the  latter  asked  his  own.  David 
Houston  had  never  had  any  friction  with 
debtor  or  creditor,  and  perhaps  that 
was  one  reason  why  he  had  never 
noticed  that  a  deal  of  his  substance  had 
been  frittered  away.  If  his  books  had 
been  a  hundredth  part  as  carefully  kept 
and  watched  over  as  his  roses  and 
pansies,  his  wife  need  never  have  wor- 
ried her  pretty  head,  but,  as  it  was,  she 
had  even  more  reason  to  do  so  than  she 
knew.  In  the  ledger  of  one  of  the  big 
city  wood-merchants  with  whom  David 
Houston  dealt,  the  word  "caution" 
13 


Jess    &    Co. 

was  pencilled  against  his  name,  and 
an  agent's  report  in  red  ink  read:  "De- 
cent, sober  young  man,  but  lazy,  and 
business  going  steadily  back,  through 
sheer  neglect." 

When  David  strolled  into  the  cottage 
shortly  after  five  o'clock  that  evening, 
he  found  his  wife  busy  ironing  in  the 
kitchen. 

"Surely  it's  not  six  yet,  Davie,"  she 
said,  smiling  at  him.  "But  I'll  get 
your  tea  at  once.  You'll  have  to  take 
it  in  the  parlor  to-night,  this  table's 
engaged." 

"Och,  there's  nae  hurry,  lassie,"  he 
said,  sitting  down  in  the  plain  wood 
arm-chair  and  lighting  his  pipe. 

"Anything  doing  at  the  shop  to-day  ?" 
asked  Jess,  folding  a  handkerchief  and 
passing  the  iron  over  it. 

Davie  hesitated,  and  choked  slightly 
on  a  puff  of  smoke.  t  "Weel,  ye  see,  I 
was  jist  gaun  into  the  shop  efter  I  left 
ye,  when  I  met  Sir  Archibald's  gair- 
dener,  an'  he  wud  ha'e  me  to  gang  up 
to  the  castle  an'  see  Sir  Airchibald's 
new  orchids.  He's  got  some  rare  yins 
— forty  pound  a-piece,  some  o'  them — 
an'  the  time  gaed  by  when  we  was 
crackin'  theg:ther,  an'  then  I  didna 
think  it  was  worth  while  gaun  back 
14 


Jess    &    Co. 

to  the  shop.  So  I  jist  cam'  hame, 
Jess." 

Jess  picked  up  a  limp  handkerchief, 
spread  it  on  the  board,  and  smoothed  it 
methodically;  then  folded  it  and  ironed 
it,  and  laid  it  aside. 

"I  wish  ye  cud  see  the  orchids,  lass," 
David  continued,  smoking  contempla- 
tively. "I  dinna  think  I  wud  ever  gae 
daft  aboot  orchids,  but  they're  wun- 
nerfu'  things.  Yell  ha'e  seen  some  in 
the  Botanic  Gairdens  in  the  toon,  I 
suppose,  but  they  wudna  be  onythin'  to 
Sir  Archibald's." 

He  paused,  but  still  his  wife  made  no 
remark. 

"Ye  had  yer  Aunt  Wallace  here  the 
day.  John  tell't  me  he  seen  her  gaun 
in  the  gate."  John  was  the  postman. 

"Yes,"  said  Jess,  in  a  strained  voice, 
though  she  strove  to  speak  naturally. 

"What's  ado?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

His  wife  said  nothing,  and  went  on 
with  her  ironing. 

He  got  up  and  went  beside  her. 
"What's  vexin'  ye?"  he  inquired,  with 
great  gentleness. 

She  kept  silence,  setting  the  iron  on 
the  stand. 

"Jess,  what's  vexin  ye?"  he  repeated. 

"I — I'm  tired,"  she  said,  at  last. 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Tired — an'  it's  nae  wunner,  puir  lass. 
Ye've  had  a  lang  day.  What  wey  did 
ye  no*  get  Mistress  Moodie  in  to  dae  yer 
washin'  ?  Yer  no'  used  to  coorse  wark, 
Jess." 

"I  like  it — I  want  to  learn,"  she  said, 
bravely,  soothed  a  little  by  his  solicitude 
for  her.  "But  I  think  I'll  stop  now  and 
get  the  tea  ready.  Will  you  bring  in 
some  coals,  Davie?"  She  wanted  him 
away  for  a  minute. 

"Ay,"  said  Davie,  readily;  and,  pick- 
ing up  the  bucket  from  the  side  of  the 
hearth,  he  went  off  on  his  errand. 

On  his  return  he  found  her  moving 
about  briskly ,  preparing  the  evening  meal . 

"Can  I  dae  onythin'  ?"  he  asked,  look- 
ing at  her.  "I'm  vexed  ye're  tired, 
Jess." 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right  now,  Davie,"  she 
said,  cheerfully.  "I'll  be  ready  for  you 
in  five  minutes." 

He  appeared  pleased  to  see  her  herself 
again.  "Weel,  I'll  get  oot  yer  road  till 
ye're  ready,"  he  said.  "I'll  ha'e  a 
dauner  roon  the  gairden." 

When  she  went  to  the  door  to  call  him, 
he  was  bending  affectionately  over  a 
clump  of  pansies.  Looking  up  with  a 
laugh,  he  cried,  "  If  I  dinna  get  a  first 
prize  on  Saturday  I'll — " 
16 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Come,  Davie,"  she  interrupted. 

"  Ye'd  like  me  to  get  a  first  prize,  wud 
ye  no',  dearie  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  followed 
her  into  the  parlor. 

"Of  course,"  she  promptly  replied. 
"But — "  and  halted. 

"But  ye  think  I  dinna  deserve  it? 
Eh?" 

"I'm  sure  you  do  deserve  it,"  she 
said,  feeling  useless.  She  had  meant  to 
be  so  stern. 

"I  wunner  what  I'll  buy  ye,  if  I  get 
the  first  prize,"  he  said,  gazing  at  her 
admiringly  as  she  poured  out  his  tea. 
"Ye  deserve  braw  things,"  he  added,  a 
little  shyly. 

"I  don't  want  anything,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"Wud  ye  like  a  brooch,  Jess?"  he 
ventured,  while  he  carefully  buttered  his 
toast. 

"Oh,  Davie,  I  tell  you  I  don't  want 
anything,"  she  insisted,  softly.  "You 
mustn't  think  of  spending  your  money 
on  me.  I'm  sure  we  can't  afford  it." 

"Havers!  We're  no'  jist  at  that 
length  yet,"  he  said,  laughing.  "An* 
whether  I  get  the  prize  or  no'  ye're  to 
get  a  brooch." 

Mrs.  Houston  looked  at  her  plate. 
Her  duty  was  becoming  more  difficult 


Jess    &    Co. 

every  minute.  She  felt  she  must  make 
an  effort  without  delay  or  remain  help- 
less forever. 

She  raised  her  head  suddenly,  looked 
him  in  the  face  for  a  second,  and  laughed 
with  well-feigned  amusement. 

"Whaur's  the  joke,  lassie?"  asked  her 
husband,  reddening,  but  smiling  good- 
humoredly. 

"  I — I  was  wondering,"  she  began,  and 
stopped. 

"An'  what  were  ye  wunnerin'  ?  What 
kin'  o'  brooch  ye  wud  like?  Eh?" 

"No,  Davie;  I  was  wondering  what 
the  baker  and  butcher  and  grocer  would 
think  if  I  went  into  their  shops  wearing 
a  fine  new  brooch." 

"I  dinna  see — " 

"Well,  Davie,  I'm  afraid  the  baker 
and  butcher  and  grocer  would  think,  if 
they  didn't  say  it,  that  Mrs.  Houston 
should  pay  her  accounts  before  she  got 
new  jewelry  from  her  man." 

Her  husband  stared.  "The  accoonts 
are  no'  that  auld,"  he  said.  "Nane  o' 
them  abin  sax  month." 

"Oh,  David!"  exclaimed  Jess,  paling. 
"D'you  mean  to  tell  me  the  accounts 
have  been  running  all  that  time — 
months  before  we  were  married?" 

"Weel,  if  ony  o'  them  wantit  their 
18 


Jess    &    Co. 

money  they  wud  ha'e  askit  for  it,"  he 
returned,  calmly.  "I  was  meanin'  to 
pey  up  everything  afore  we  got  roairrit, 
but  I  clean  forgot.  Ye're  no'  angry,  are 
ye,  Jess  ?" 

"No,  I'm  not  angry,  but  I  am  sorry. 
Did  your  sister,  when  she  kept  your 
house,  not  like  to  pay  everybody  quick- 
ly?" 

"She  never  fashed  hersel',  dearie. 
An'  ye  needna  fash  yersel'  either.  I 
mind  ye  said  jist  afore  we  got  mairrit 
ye  wud  like  to  pey  everything  when  ye 
got  it,  but — " 

"Every  Saturday,  Davie." 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  that's  no'  easy  ar- 
ranged." 

"But  why?" 

"Because  I  canna  get  my  accoonts 
peyed  every  week." 

"No;  but  if  you  were  once  to  get  in 
some  of  your  big  accounts,  you  would 
surely  have  enough  to  go  on  with,  and 
after  that  you  could  get  people  to  pay 
you  regularly  and  keep  things  going. 
Don't  you  see,  Davie?"  she  said, 
softly. 

"Ay,"  said  David,  slowly.  "I  see 
what  ye  mean,  but — " 

"David,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "you 
must  try  it,  to  please  me."  Jess,  in  her 
19 


Jess    &    Co. 

old  home,  had  known  what  overdue  ac- 
counts were. 

"  But,  lass,"  said  her  husband,  passing 
her  his  cup.  He  got  no  further,  and 
watched  her  anxiously. 

She  filled  his  cup  before  she  spoke. 
Then  she  said,  kindly  but  deliberately: 
"I  want  you  to  send  out  all  your  ac- 
counts— the  ones  due,  I  mean — to- 
morrow. Please,  Davie." 

"I'll  ha'e  a  look  through  the  book  to 
please  ye,"  he  said,  after  a  pause.  "But 
I'm  no'  jist  in  the  humor  for  accoonts, 
Jess." 

"Bring  your  books  home,  and  I'll 
send  out  the  accounts.  I'm  used  to 
that."  And  she  laughed,  for  she  felt 
she  was  now  on  the  path  to  victory. 

"Ye're  owre  guid  to  me.  I — I  doot 
ye'll  no'  think  muckle  o'  ma  book- 
keepin'.  An'  ye'll  no'  ha'e  time  to — " 

"Never  mind  about  that.  Will  you 
bring  me  the  books  to-morrow?" 

"'Deed,  ay.  I'll  be  glad  to  ha'e  yer 
help,  Jess, for  I  never  cud  thole  feegures." 

"Dear  lad!"  cried  Jess,  laughing,  with 
a  tear  in  her  eye,  and  got  up  hastily  and 
kissed  him. 

At    dinner  -  time    next    day    David 
brought  home  his  two  books,  and  in  a 
20 


Jess    &    Co. 

shamefaced  fashion  laid  them  on  the 
kitchen  dresser.  In  the  afternoon  he 
had  a  job  to  do  which  he  could  not  possi- 
bly postpone,  and  when  he  had  left  the 
cottage,  his  wife,  having  hastily  put  the 
kitchen  straight,  settled  herself  at  the 
parlor  table,  and  proceeded  to  investi- 
gate the  books. 

"Oh,  my!"  she  whispered,  when  she 
opened  the  first.  The  exclamation  was 
one  of  sheer  dismay,  and  for  a  couple  of 
minutes  her  heart  was  hopeless. 

But  she  pulled  herself  together  and 
plunged  into  the  work  she  had  set  her- 
self. In  a  couple  of  hours  she  had  a 
sheaf  of  papers  covered  with  jottings, 
and,  later,  when  David  settled  down 
with  his  pipe  for  the  evening,  she  over- 
whelmed him  with  queries. 

"You'll  have  to  help  me,  Davie,"  she 
said,  pleasantly.  "There  are  some 
things  I  don't  quite  understand  about 
the  ledger." 

'  'Deed,  ay.  There's  a  wheen  things 
I  dinna  understaun'  masel',"  he  return- 
ed, with  a  laugh. 

"Well,  I'll  ask  you  some  questions, 
and  you'll  answer  them?" 

"A'  richt,  lass." 

"Well — a — have   you   had   no   work 
since  the  middle  of  March,  Davie?" 
21 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Plenty." 

"But  there's  nothing  about  it  in  the 
ledger." 

"I  must  ha'e  forgot  to  pit  it  in.  But 
I've  got  it  a'  here."  He  produced  some 
scraps  of  paper  and  handed  them  to 
her.  "There  ye  are,  Jess." 

Mrs.  Houston  looked  over  the  papers 
and  then  busied  herself  for  nearly  an 
hour  making  entries  in  the  ledger. 

"Is  that  all?"  she  asked,  at  last. 

"Ay,  that  '11  be  everything." 

"  But — but  what  about  the  new  paling 
along  at  Mr.  Morgan's?" 

"I  must  ha'e  forgot  to  pit  it  doon." 

"Well,  I'll  put  it  down  now.  Tell  me 
how  much  wood,  and  time,  and  money." 

He  told  her. 

She  wrinkled  her  brows  as  she  made 
a  jotting.  "You're  charging  four  shil- 
lings too  little,"  she  said,  presently. 

"So  I  am,"  he  admitted,  sheepishly, 
after  some  consideration. 

"To-morrow  you  must  walk  through 
Kinlochan  slowly  and  see  if  you  can  re- 
member anything  else  you've  forgotten 
to  charge." 

"To-morrow's  the  show." 

Jess  checked  an  impatient  word  or 
two.  "On  Monday  then,  David,"  she 
said,  quietly.  Then  she  returned  to  the 


J  ess    &    Co. 

ledger  again.  "Here's  an  account  for 
£3  155-.  4$d.  against  Mr.  McFarlane, 
Seaview,  that's  been  standing  for  two 
years.  Why  isn't  it  paid?" 

"Mr.  McFarlane's  deid." 

"Oh!     But  still,  his  wife's  there." 

"But  she's  no'  vera  weel  aff,  puir 
buddy." 

"Surely  she  might  have  paid  some- 
thing." 

"Maybe." 

Jess  turned  to  another  page.  "  Here's 
more  than  two  pounds  owing  by  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald.  It's  nearly  as  old." 

"Weel,  ye  see,  she  gaed  awa'  kin'  o' 
sudden." 

"But  you  should  have  got  her  ad- 
dress, David." 

"Ay;  I  daursay,  lassie.  I  aye  in- 
tendit  to  get  it." 

"H'm!  Then  there's  about  thirty 
pounds  owing  by  Sir  Archibald  more 
than  a  year.  He  should  have  paid  you 
long  ago.  Why,  here's  a  letter  dated 
February  asking  you  to  send  the  ac- 
count!'' 

"I'll  see  aboot  it  next  week,  Jess." 

"I'll  see  about  it  to-night,"  she  said, 
a  trifle  sharply. 

"Och,  dinna  fash  yersel',  dearie.     I 
wish  I  hadna  brocht  ye  the  books." 
23 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I'm  glad  you  did,  Davie,"  she  re- 
plied, more  kindly.  "I — I  like  a  little 
of  this  work,  you  know,  and  I've  made 
up  my  mind  to  keep  your  books  for  you 
in  future.  I  know  it's  not  very  easy 
for  a  man  with  your  sort  of  work  to  do 
clerking." 

"  'Deed,  I  never  cud  thole  it,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  so  gratefully  that  she 
smiled  in  her  trouble. 

Although  she  had  a  hundred  more 
questions  to  ask  him,  she  refrained,  and 
asked  but  a  few — one  very  particu- 
larly. 

"Did  you  ever  make  up  a  balance- 
sheet,  Davie?" 

"A  balance-sheet?" 

"Well,  an  account  to  show  how  much 
you  owed  and  how  much  was  owing  to 
you,  and  how  much  you  possessed  alto- 
gether?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  well,"  she  said,  "don't  bother 
about  it.  I'm  your  clerk  now,  so  you 
can  go  on  with  your  newspaper." 

"Oh,  ye 're  a  great  wumman!"  he 
cried.  "I  think  I'll  tak'  a  dauner  roon 
the  gairden.  I  hope  it's  no'  gaun  to 
rain.  Come,  Jess." 

But  she  refused  quietly,  and  he  went 
out  alone  to  inspect  the  roses  and  pansies 
24 


Jess    &    Co. 

which  would  so  soon  increase  or  mar 
his  reputation  at  the  Ardmartin  annual 
show. 

David  hardly  slept  a  wink  that  night, 
for  he  was  troubled  about  the  weather. 
Before  five  o'clock  he  rose,  dressed,  and 
went  out-of-doors.  The  west  wind  was 
blowing  in  soft  puffs  and  threatened  to 
increase  in  force,  while  the  skies  sug- 
gested a  rainy  day.  By  six  o'clock 
David  had  cut  his  contributions  to  the 
flower  show  and  placed  them  in  the 
shallow  tin  tanks  which  had  carried  his 
blooms  to  the  Ardmartin  show  since  he 
was  a  lad  of  seventeen,  nearly  twelve 
years  ago. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  weather  broke 
completely — strong  wind  and  lashing 
rain.  Jess  was  not  sorry,  though  she 
pretended  she  was,  that  it  was  out  of  the 
question  for  her  to  attempt  the  road  to 
Ardmartin,  four  miles  distant.  David 
was  sadly  disappointed.  He  wanted 
her  to  be  with  him  at  his  expected  tri- 
umph. The  roses  and  pansies  were 
taken  away  in  a  covered  cart  which 
collected  the  flowers  of  several  other 
Kinlochan  gardens  and  greenhouses,  and 
David  in  his  oil-skins  set  out  with  a 
neighboring  gardener. 
25 


Jess    &    Co. 

"  Ye'll  be  pleased  if  I  get  a  first  prize, 
will  ye  no',  Jess?"  he  asked,  ere  he  left 
the  house. 

"Surely,  Davie,"  she  replied,  honest- 
ly. And  she  almost  prayed  for  his  suc- 
cess, though  she  felt  it  would  be  against 
all  her  plans. 

Early  in  the  forenoon  she  set  to  work 
once  more  on  the  books,  and  made  out 
the  accounts  due,  or  rather  overdue. 
After  that  she  turned  to  the  pages  de- 
voted to  her  husband's  creditors.  And 
there  she  received  a  shock. 

"Oh,  Davie,  Davie!"  she  said,  half 
aloud,  and  nerved  herself  to  make  up  a 
rough  balance-sheet.  Her  husband  had 
provided  her  with  an  approximate  val- 
uation of  his  stock-in-trade,  "as  near  as 
he  could  guess." 

The  old  clock  in  the  kitchen  struck 
again  and  again,  but  she  did  not  hear  it. 
Not  till  nearly  five  o'clock  did  she  rise 
from  the  table,  too  weary  to  feel  hungry, 
and  put  the  books  away  in  a  safe  place. 

She  laid  the  tea  things,  and  sat  down 
to  wait  for  her  husband,  wondering  how 
she  would  break  the  bad  news  to  him. 
For,  looking  at  matters  in  the  most  fa- 
vorable light,  David  Houston  was  insol- 
vent— nearly  a  hundred  pounds  on  the 
wrong  side. 

26 


Jess    &    Co. 

Jess  heard  him  bidding  good-bye  to  a 
friend  at  the  gate,  laughing  merrily. 
Then  the  gate  clicked,  and  he  came 
running  up  to  the  house,  calling  upon 
her  ere  he  was  through  the  door- 
way. 

"Jess,  Jess!  I've  got  twa  firsts,  I've 
got  twa  firsts!  Whaur  are  ye,  lass  ?" 

He  stood  before  her,  six  feet  of  health 
and  strength,  a  goodly  man  to  look  at, 
proud,  blithe,  and  loving. 

He  poured  forth  his  story,  picked  her 
out  of  the  chair  and  hugged  her,  put  her 
back,  and  dropped  three  greasy  pound 
notes  into  her  lap. 

"There,  ma  lass!  Twa  first  prizes! 
An'  every  penny's  yer  ain!  My!  I 
wish  ye  had  been  there!  Ye  wud  ha'e 
been  the  prood  wumman." 

He  ran  on,  while  she  tried  to  smile 
back  to  him  in  spite  of  the  thing  that  re- 
peated itself  in  her  mind — "Three 
pounds  for  a  hundred  pounds,  three 
pounds  for  a  hundred — " 

"Wait  a  minute,"  she  gasped  at  last, 
and  fled  from  the  parlor.  "I'm  afraid 
the  kettle's  boiling." 

She  ran  into  the  kitchen,  shut  the 
door,  and  laid  her  face  in  her  arms  against 
the  panel.  .  .  . 

Five  minutes  later  she  went  back  to 
3  27 


Jess    &    Co. 

the  parlor  and  kissed  Davie.  "I'm  real 
glad,  Davie,"  she  said. 

"Ye've  been  greetin',  lass!"  he  cried, 
alarmed. 

"No  wonder!  Two  first  prizes! 
You'll  be  a  gardener  yet,  lad!"  she  add- 
ed, almost  solemnly. 

During  the  evening  he  asked  her  how 
she  had  got  on  with  the  books. 

But  she  was  ready  for  the  question — 
she  was  ready  for  anything  now.  "The 
books  are  mine  now,  Davie.  I'll  look 
after  the  books,  and — and  you'll  look 
after  the  work  that  fills  them." 

"Ye're  a  great  wumman,  Jess!"  he 
cried,  admiringly.  "I'll  tak'  ye  to  the 
next  show,  wat  or  dry'  ' 


II 

In   the   Wood 

MRS.  WALLACE  opened  the  door 
under  the  sign  -  board  which  an- 
nounced in  faded  letters  the  fact  that 
the  shabby  old  timber  building  was 
occupied  by  "  D.  Houston,  Joiner  and 
Glazier,"  and  entered  the  workshop.  It 
was  a  sultry  afternoon  towards  the  end 
of  August,  and  within  there  was  neither 
movement  nor  sound  save  among  the 
flies  that  hovered  and  buzzed  against 
the  dirty,  small-paned  windows. 

"Shope!"  cried  Mrs.  Wallace,  picking 
up  a  hammer  from  the  nearest  bench 
and  thumping  violently. 

Old  Angus  rose  slowly  from  the  bags 
of  sawdust  whereon  he  had  been  dozing, 
a  blackened  clay  pipe  between  his  teeth, 
and  came  leisurely  across  the  floor,  peer- 
ing drowsily  at  the  visitor. 

"  Aw,  it's  yersel',"  he  muttered,  at  last, 
recognizing  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"Ay ;  it's  masel'.  Ye're  busy  the  day, 
29 


Jess    &    Co. 

shairly!"  she  returned,  with  a  sarcastic 
smile. 

"  Mphm!  I  was  thalt  busy  I  forgot  to 
lock  the  door,"  he  retorted,  good-humor- 
edly. 

"Are  ye  no'  feart  to  gang  to  sleep  wi' 
yer  pipe  in  yer  mooth  amang  a'  thae 
sticks  an'  shavin's  ?"  she  asked,  severely. 

"Ma  pipe's  toom,  as  ye  can  see,  mis- 
tress. If  there  was  onythin'  in  it,  ye 
wudna  catch  me  nappin'." 

"  But  whit  wey  dae  ye  keep  an  emp'y 
pipe  in  yer  mooth,  man?" 

"For  comp'ny — jist  for  comp'ny. 
But  it's  no'  vera  entertainin'  comp'ny, 
an'  whiles  I  forget  it.  Was  ye  wantin' 
onythin'  the  day,  mistress?" 

"I  wis  wantin'  yer  maister." 

"He's  no'  in  the  noo." 

"I  can  see  that  fur  masel'." 

"  Weel,  ye  can  believe  ma  word  a'  the 
better." 

Mrs.  Wallace  gave  an  impatient  sniff. 
"When. '11  he  be  in?" 

"He  didna  say." 

"Wull  he  be  in  the  day?" 

"He  micht,  an'  he  micht  no'.  Was 
ye  wantin'  him  parteeclar  like?" 

"Ay." 

"That's  a  great  peety." 

"Tits,  man!  When  wis  he  in  last?" 
3° 


Jess    £    Co. 

"Afore  dinner." 

"An"  whaur  did  he  gang  then?" 

"  Hame  to  his  dinner.  I  dinna  ken 
what  he  was  to  get  to  his  dinner  though." 

"I  wisna  speirin'." 

"  I  thocht  I  wud  save  ye  the  trouble." 

Mrs.  Wallace  sniffed  again.  "Ye're 
gettin'  vera  polite  in  yer  auld  age, 
Angus,"  she  remarked,  acidly. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  he  returned,  blinking  cheer- 
fully. "A  man's  never  ower  auld  to 
learn.  .  .  .  It's  maybe  different  wi'  a 
wumman,"  he  added,  reflectively,  with 
an  absent-minded  pull  at  his  cold  pipe. 

Mrs.  Wallace  was  too  well  accustomed 
to  such  sparring-matches  with  old  An- 
gus to  be  deeply  offended  by  his  last 
observation .  "  Man ,  it 's  a  peety  ye  never 
got  mairrit,"  she  remarked,  teasingly. 

"Ye're  no'  the  first  to  say  that,  mis- 
tress," he  returned,  with  an  irritating 
grin. 

"Well,  I'm  likely  to  be  the  last!" 
snapped  Mrs.  Wallace.  "An'  I'll  bid 
ye  guid-day,  ye  impiddent  auld  man!" 
And  she  turned  to  the  door,  her  beaded 
mantle,  which  she  wore  out  -  of  -  doors 
summer  and  winter,  shaking,  half  with 
wrath  and  half  with  amusement. 

"Oh,  ye  better  bide  a  wee,"  he  said, 
more  genially.  "  What's  yer  hurry  ?" 

31 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I  dinna  want  to  keep  ye  aff  yer 
work,"  she  retorted,  facing  round  and 
glancing  meaningly  at  the  bags  of  saw- 
dust. "  Wull  David  Houston  be  in  the 
shope  the  morn's  mornin' ?" 

"I  wudna  say  he'll  no'." 

"But  wull  he  no'  be  in  the  shope  fur 
certain?"  the  old  woman  demanded, 
impatiently. 

"Ay;  I  daursay  he'll  be  here." 

"Are  ye  no'  shair?" 

"Ay;  I'm  shair." 

"Mercy  me!"  she  cried.  "Whit  wey 
did  ye  no'  say  that  at  the  beginnin', 
man?" 

"  Och,  I  didna  ken  ye  was  in  a  hurry. 
Ha'e  ye  a  job  for  him?" 

"Deed,  ay!  Ma  coal-cellar  door's 
wantin'  a  new  lock.  I'm  shair  I  tell't 
Jess  to  tell  him  aboot  it  mair  nor  a 
month  syne." 

"Ay.  I  mind  him  speakin'  aboot  it. 
It  was  on  the  sclate,  but  maybe  it  got 
rubbit  oot.  .  .  .  Mphm!"  muttered  An- 
gus, taking  down  a  cracked  school-slate 
from  the  wall,  "it  maun  ha'e  got  rub- 
bit  oot  when  he  was  writin'  doon  ither 
orders.  Ye  can  see  for  yersel'  it's  no' 
there." 

Mrs.  Wallace  examined  the  slate,  upon 
which  there  were  several  jottings. 
32 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Weel,  ye  can  pit  it  doon  noo,"  she 
said,  curbing  her  temper. 

"I'll  dae  that,  mistress,"  he  returned, 
pleasantly.  He  drew  the  wristband 
of  his  flannel  shirt  over  his  fist,  and  in  a 
twinkling  the  slate  was  clean. 

"My!  Ye've  done  it  noo!"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"What's  ado?" 

"Ye've  rubbit  oot  a'  the  orders  that 
wis  on  the  sclate!" 

Angus  stared  ruefully  at  his  handi- 
work. "Sirs,  the  day!  I  maun  be  get  - 
tin'  auld,"  he  said,  dismally,  at  last. 
"I  hope  the  maister  '11  mind  what  was 
on  the  sclate." 

Mrs.  Wallace  refrained  from  making 
an  unkind  remark.  After  all,  she  ar- 
gued to  herself,  David  ought  to  attend 
to  his  business  personally,  and  he  was 
the  one  to  blame. 

"What  did  ye  say  ye  wantit,  mis- 
tress ?"  asked  Angus,  in  a  humbled  voice. 
"A  door  for  yer  coal-cellar?" 

"Na,  na!  Jist  a  lock  fur  the  door  o' 
the  cellar." 

"Jist  that.  .  .  .  Maybe  ye  wud  write  it 
doon  yersel',  mistress,"  he  said,  hand- 
ing her  the  slate  and  pencil,  as  he  always 
did  to  customers  after  offering  to  take 
down  their  orders. 

33 


Jess    &    Co. 

Mrs.  Wallace  took  the  pencil  and 
flung  back  the  right  wing  of  her  man- 
tle. "Whit  '11  I  pit  doon?"  she 'asked, 
laying  the  slate  on  the  bench  and  bend- 
ing over  it. 

"Aw,  jist  write  'Lock  —  Wallace.' 
He'll  ken  what  that  means." 

"  Man,  I  wunner  at  ye  keepin'  sic  a  bad 
pincil,"  she  remarked,  as  she  scrawled 
laboriously  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
hideous  screeching.  "It's  near  as  bad 
as  playin'  the  fiddle!  .  .  .  Weel,  see  an' 
no'  rub  this  oot,  Angus,"  she  said, 
rising  and  adjusting  her  mantle. 

"I'll  tak'  care,  mistress,"  the  old  man 
replied,  in  a  subdued  voice.  He  was 
very  much  ashamed  of  himself,  and  had 
no  heart  for  further  chaff. 

"Has  yer  maister  been  busy  the 
week?"  inquired  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"Ou  ay.     Gey  busy." 

"Whit's  he  workin'  at  the  noo?" 

"I  think  it's  his  carnations  the  noo," 
he  answered,  and  could  have  bitten  off 
his  tongue  the  next  instant.  "Ye 
muckle  sumph!  Ye  auld  eediot!"  he 
said  to  himself,  "what  did  ye  tell  her 
for?"  .  .  .  Then,  pulling  himself  together, 
he  said  aloud:  "An'  he's  had  a  wheen 
jobs  aboot  the  place.  'Deed  ay,  he's 
been  gey  busy  the  week,  mistress," 
34 


Jess    &     Co. 

Mrs.  Wallace,  after  a  short  pause, 
said,  cuttingly:  "I'll  tell  ye  somethin', 
Angus.  Yer  maister  ocht  to  think 
shame  o'  hissel'!" 

"  Hoo  daur  ye!"  he  roared,  in  a  sudden 
passion. 

But  the  visitor,  as  though  she  had  not 
heard  him,  hurried  from  the  shop,  bang- 
ing the  door  behind  her. 

Full  of  indignation,  the  old  fellow 
leaned  trembling  against  the  bench, 
drawing  furiously  at  his  empty  pipe. 
"Hoo  daur  she  say  sic  a  thing!"  he 
muttered  again  and  again.  For  the 
admiration  of  his  existence  was  centred 
in  David  Houston.  Angus  had  room 
in  his  heart  for  only  one  other  person 
besides  David,  the  other  person  being 
his  sister,  a  year  younger  than  himself 
but  ten  years  frailer — in  fact,  an  invalid. 
Hence  the  emptiness  of  his  pipe.  His 
modest  supply  of  tobacco,  purchased 
on  Saturday,  invariably  gave  out  by 
Wednesday  night,  unless  supplemented, 
as  now  and  then  it  was,  by  a  gift  from 
his  master.  His  weekly  wage  was 
small,  but  he  did  little  for  it  except 
make  an  occasional  mistake,  and  David 
could  not  afford  to  pay  him  more. 

Mrs.  Wallace  had  not  intended  visit- 
ing her  niece  that  afternoon,  but  she 
35 


Jess    &    Co. 

changed  her  mind  on  leaving  the  joiner's 
shop,  and  set  out  in  the  direction  of  the 
cottage,  filled  with  the  idea  of  surprising 
David  at  his  gardening  and  delivering 
him  a  lecture  on  "sticking  to  his  last." 

Passing  through  the  village,  she 
caught  sight  of  the  grocer,  who  was 
standing  at  his  door,  moodily  surveying 
a  dozen  or  so  fowls  that  were  scraping, 
pecking,  or  bathing  in  the  warm  dust 
of  the  road.  He  appeared  to  be  the 
only  wakeful  personage  in  the  locality, 
the  other  shops  in  the  row  having 
their  doors  partly  or  wholly  closed  and 
their  blinds  drawn  down — for  the  after- 
noon steamer,  the  arrival  of  which  al- 
ways created  a  stir,  was  not  due  for  half 
an  hour.  It  was  too  hot  for  cycling  or 
walking,  and  the  adult  summer  visitors 
remained  indoors  or,  at  any  rate,  in  the 
shadiest  nooks  of  their  gardens.  From 
the  shore  came  the  chatter  and  laughter 
of  tireless  children — the  only  human 
sound  to  be  heard. 

Mrs.  Wallace  could  seldom  resist  a 
little  chat  with  the  grocer,  the  reputed 
oracle  of  Kinlochan,  and  she  halted  at 
his  door,  remarking,  briefly, 

"Warm  the  day,  Maister  Ogilvy." 

"Ye  never  said  a  truer  word,  Mistress 
Wallace.     Are  ye  keepin'  middlin'?" 
36 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Oh,  I  canna  complain.  Hoo's 
trade?" 

"Bad — extraornar'  bad!  Never  seen 
onythin'  like  it." 

"It  maun  be  gey  bad,  fur  I've  heard 
ye  sayin'  the  same  fur  near  ten  year. 
It's  a  guid  job  ye've  no'  a  wife  an' 
weans." 

"It  is  that!  If  I  hadna  been  a  single 
man  I  wud  ha'e  been  in  the  puir-hoose 
lang  syne.  Ay!"  And  Mr.  Ogilvy  stuck 
his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat  arm-holes, 
half-shut  his  eyes,  drew  a  long  breath 
of  misery,  and — looked  the  very  picture 
of  ease  and  prosperity. 

"Havers,  man!  Ye  maun  be  daein'  a 
graun'  trade  wi'  a'  thae  simmer  veesi tors. 
I'm  tell't  every  hoose  on  the  shore's  let, 
an — " 

' '  Simmer  veesitors !  Guidsake !  I  wish 
ye  kent  the  simmer  veesitors  as  weel  as 
I  dae,  an'  ye  wudna  be  speakin'  aboot 
graun'  trade!  No'  but  what  there's  a 
pickle  dacent  folk  amang  them.  But 
if  you  was  in  ma  poseetion,  Mistress 
Wallace,  an'  seen  the  boaxes  an'  boaxes 
o'  groceries  comin'  aff  every  boat  frae 
the  big  grocers  i'  the  toon  to  the — the 
simmer  veesitors,  ye  wud — ye  wud — 
oh,  I  dinna  ken  what  ye  wud  dae!  It's 
jist  hert-rendin' !  An'  me  keepin'  the 
37 


Jess    &    Co. 

best  proveesions  to  be  got!  Ach! 
Whiles  I  think  the  stuff  I  keep's  ower 
guid  for  the — the  simmer  veesitors." 

"  Dae  they  get  their  proveesions  chaper 
frae  the  toon  ?"  put  in  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"I'll  no'  deny  that  they  maybe  get 
twa-three  things  a  ha'penny  or  a  penny 
chaper  nor  I  can  sell  them.  Botled 
peas,  for  instance — thae  'pettit  poys,' 
ye  ken.  Ay,  the  'pettit  poys'  is  a  guid 
example.  Maybe  ye'll  ha'e  noticed  a 
vera  stylish  leddy  that's  been  bidin' 
in  The  Grange  since  the  beginnin'  o' 
July  ?  She's  aye  fleein'  aboot  in  a 
cairriage  an'  pair,  an' — " 

"Aw,  ye  mean  Mistress  Spright.  I 
heard  her  man  wis  unco  wealthy." 

"That's  her!  Aweel,  she  never  cam' 
ower  ma  doorstep  till  the  day  afore 
yesterday — na,  it  was  the  day  afore 
that — an'  she  left  her  cairriage  an'  pair 
at  the  door  an'  walkit  in  as  if  she  was 
gaun  to  buy  a'  I  had.  An'  I  tell  ye,  I 
was  rale  pleased  to  see  her,  for  I  kent 
hers  wud  be  a  graun'  account.  So  I 
says,  'It's  a  fine  day,'  an'  got  ready  ma 
book  an'  pincil." 

"Wis  she  jist  wantin'  change?"  asked 
Mrs.  Wallace. 

"  Na,  na.  But  efter  takin'  a  luk  roon 
the  place,  she  speirt  if  I  had  ony  o' 
38 


Jess    &    Co. 

thae  'pettit  poys' — at  least  I  kent  that 
was  what  she  was  efter,  though  she 
said  it  in  a  kin'  o'  high-falutin'  style — 
'Pettee  Poas'  I  think  she  said." 

"That  '11  be  Italian,  maybe." 

"Weel,  I  dinna  ken.  But  onyway  I 
had  them,  an'  showed  them  to  her,  an' 
spiert  hoo  mony  botles  I  wud  send — for, 
of  coorse,  yin  botle  o'  peas  is  naethin' 
to  thae  gentry.  .  .  .  An'  wud  ye  believe 
it,  Mistress  Wallace,  she  speirt  the  price, 
an'  when  I  tell't  her,  she  said  she  cud  get 
them  frae  the  toon  a  penny  a  botle 
chaper." 

"Weel,  I  never!" 

"I  was  vexed  at  that,  but  I  didna 
want  to  loss  her  custom,  an'  I  said  if  she 
was  takin'  ither  proveesions — an'  some 
o'  them's  chaper  wi'  me  nor  in  the  toon 
— I  wad  tak  the  penny  aff  the  peas.  But 
she  said  she  didna  want  onythin'  else,  an' 
the  peas  was  ower  dear;  but  she  had 
been  passin',  an'  thocht  she  wud  gi'e 
me  a  trial.  An'  seein'  she  was  gaun 
to  buy  naethin'  ava',  I  got  kin'  o'  wild, 
an'  I  says:  ''Deed,  mum,  it's  a  trial 
that's  gey  hard  to  bear!'  But  she  gaed 
oot  to  her  cairriage  wi'  her  nose  i'  the 
air,  as  if  she  hadna  heard  me.  An' 
she's  yin  o'  yer  simmer  veesitors  that 
brings  trade  to  Kinlochan!  Humph!" 
39 


Jess    &    Co. 

But  this  was  not  the  information 
which  Mrs.  Wallace  had  hoped  she  might 
gain  from  Mr.  Ogilvy,  who  was  generally 
a  day  before  his  neighbors  with  the  true 
news — not  the  mere  gossip  and  rumors 
— of  the  district.  Mrs.  Wallace  had 
heard  a  certain  rumor,  and  she  was 
anxious  to  have  it  confirmed,  if  possible, 
ere  she  went  to  the  cottage.  But  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  in  his  position  of  oracle,  was  not 
always  in  the  humor  for  consultation, 
and  she  felt  it  would  be  vain  to  ask  the 
question  at  the  moment,  for  just  then 
the  steamer  appeared  in  the  distance, 
and  the  grocer  seemed  to  be  suffering 
from  visions  of  heavy  consignments  that 
held  no  profit  for  himself. 

So,  with  a  brief  adieu,  she  was  turning 
away,  when  he  said,  abruptly,  "If  ye're 
for  Hazel  Cottage,  ye  can  tell  Da  vie 
Houston  that  Maister  Mathieson,  o' 
Arden  Hoose,  '11  shin  be  wantin'  es- 
timates for  repairin'  a'  his  greenhouses 
— a  fine  big  job — ower  big  for  Davie,  I 
doot.  But  ye  best  gi'e  him  the  hint,  for 
I  heard  the  jiners  in  Kilmabeg  and 
Fairport  was  efter  it.  Weel,  guid-day 
to  ye.  Ye'll  no'  be  needin'  onythin'  the 
noo?"  concluded  Mr.  Ogilvy,  who  never 
forgot  business. 

"I'll  maybe  see  ye  on  ma  road  hame," 
40 


Jess    &    Co. 

returned  Mrs.  Wallace,  as  she  bustled  off 
with  her  desired  information.  After 
some  consideration  by  the  way  she 
decided,  though  it  did  go  against  the 
grain,  to  tell  Jess,  and  not  David,  about 
the  repairing  of  the  Arden  greenhouses. 

She  entered  the  garden  of  Hazel 
Cottage  to  find  the  owner  bending  over 
a  clump  of  carnations  as  if  he  loved 
them,  as  indeed  he  did.  At  the  sight  of 
him  her  expression  softened  somewhat; 
for,  after  all,  it  was  one  thing  to  speak 
severely  of  David  Houston,  and  quite 
another  to  speak  severely  to  him. 

"Weel,  Davie,"  she  said,  advancing 
towards  him. 

"Mistress  Wallace!"  he  exclaimed,  in 
a  tone  that  suggested  he  was  glad  to  see 
her;  and  he  rose  and  shook  hands  with 
her  with  the  queer  mixture  of  dignity 
and  easiness  that  had  always  attracted 
her  in  the  days  when  he  was  courting  her 
niece.  Mrs.  Wallace  had  many  a  time 
admitted  to  herself — only  to  herself — 
that  there  "wis  somethin'  aboot  Davie 
Houston  she  cudna  get  ower." 

"Jess  '11  be  richt  pleased  to  see  ye,"  he 
went  on,  "  an'  ye've  jist  come  in  time  for 
a  few  o'  ma  carnations.  Jess  was  for 
takin'  them  to  ye  hersel',  but  I  tell't 
her  I  wud  be  prooder  to  gi'e  ye  them  jist 
41 


Jess    &    Co. 

oot  the  gairden.  .  .  .  Ha'e!  Smell  that, 
Mistress  Wallace,"  said  David,  with 
pride  in  his  voice,  handing  her  a  bunch 
of  his  blooms. 

"Mphm!  It's  no'  a  bad  scent  that," 
she  admitted,  after  a  short  inhalation. 
"It's  near  as  nice  as  cloves,"  she  added, 
endeavoring  to  be  gracious,  and  won- 
dering how  she  could  introduce  the 
subject  of  the  lock  for  her  coal-cellar 
door. 

"But  ye'll  be  wantin'  to  see  Jess," 
said  David. 

"Ay.  Is  she  in  the  hoose?"  Being 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  she  nodded 
to  David  and  left  him,  deciding  that, 
after  all,  it  might  be  better  to  mention 
her  complaint  to  her  niece. 

She  found  the  young  woman  in  the 
kitchen  with  her  print  sleeves  rolled 
up  and  her  arms  up  to  the  elbows  in 
flour. 

"  Preserve  us !  Are  ye  tryin'  yer  haun' 
at  the  bakin'  noo?"  she  exclaimed,  seat- 
ing herself  in  the  arm-chair. 

"Scones,"  replied  Jess,  with  a  some- 
what rueful  smile. 

"  Ye're  the  yin  fur  tryin' !" 

"  D'you  think  I  never  succeed,  aunt  ?" 

"Whiles.  Ye  canna  expec'  to  ken 
muckle  aboot  keep  in'  a  hoose  efter 
42 


Jess    &    Co. 

workin'  in  an  office.  But  nae  doot  ye'll 
learn.  Let's  see  yin  o'  yer  scones, 
lassie." 

Jess,  with  even  more  color  in  her  face 
than  the  fire  had  given  it,  passed  one  of 
her  productions  to  the  old  lady,  and 
awaited  her  verdict  with  dire  forebod- 
ings. 

Mrs.  Wallace  fingered  the  scone,  bit  it, 
swallowed  the  fragment  with  exagger- 
ated effort  and  much  facial  contortion, 
and  solemnly  laid  the  remainder  on 
the  table. 

Her  verdict  was  delivered  in  a  single 
word,  "  Cahootchy !" 

Jess  tried  to  smile,  but  her  lip  trem- 
bled. "I  didn't  think  they  were  quite 
so  tough  as  all  that,"  she  said,  recover- 
ing herself,  and  refraining  from  men- 
tioning the  fact  that  five  or  ten  minutes 
before  her  aunt's  arrival  her  husband 
had  eaten  a  couple  with  apparently 
supreme  satisfaction. 

"Aw,  ye'll  maybe  dae  better  next 
time,"  remarked  Mrs.  Wallace,  doubt- 
fully. "Dinna  work  wi'  yer  scones  as 
if  they  wis  clay.  Dinna  press  heavy 
upon  them,  fur  ye  micht  as  well  pit 
them  through  a  patent  mangle.  Be 
awfu'  carefu'  wi'  the  sody,  an'  no'  let  it 
gang  in  lumps,  for  a  lump  o'  sody  in  a 
*  43 


Jess    &    Co. 

scone's  as  bad's  a  rid  nose  on  a  tee- 
totaler." 

Mrs.  Houston  laughed.  "I'm  much 
obliged,  Aunt  Wallace.  I'll  try  and 
mind  your  advice,  and  maybe  some 
night  when  you  come  to  your  tea,  I'll 
have  scones  for  you  to  try." 

" 'Deed,  ay.  Dinna  be  dooncast.  Try, 
try,  try  again!  Ye're  young  yet.  .  .  . 
An'  hoo's  Davie  gettin'  on?"  she  in- 
quired, suddenly. 

"Fine,"  replied  Jess;  "he's  had  a  lot 
of  work  this  week." 

"In  the  gairden?"  said  Mrs.  Wallace, 
glancing  at  the  carnations  lying  in  her 
lap. 

"No.  This  is  the  first  afternoon  he's 
had  time  for  the  garden  this  week. 
It  was  me  that  kept  him  at  home  this 
afternoon,  for  I  knew  he  was  wearying 
to  look  after  his  carnations.  They're 
beauties,  aren't  they?" 

"Ye  didna  notice  if  he  was  wearyin' 
to  pit  that  new  lock  on  ma  coal-cellar 
door?" 

"Oh,  Aunt,  has  he —  For  a  moment 
Jess  was  confused.  Then  she  said,  "I'm 
sorry  I  forgot  to  tell  him  about  the  lock. 
It  was  my  fault." 

"Ye  didna  furget  to  tell  him.  I  wis 
speakin'  to  Angus  the  day,  an'  he  said 
44 


Jess    &    Co. 

it  had  been  doon  on  the  sclate,  but  got 
rubbit  oot.  So  ye  needna  blame  yersel.' 
I  pit  it  doon  on  the  sclate  again  masel' , 
so  he'll  maybe  mind  afore  the  year's  oot." 

"I'll  remind  him  myself,"  said  Jess. 
She  experienced  a  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment, for  during  the  week  she  had  been 
elated  to  observe  the  regular  and  almost 
willing  fashion  in  which  her  husband 
had  been  attending  to  his  work. 

"There's  anither  thing  ye  can  tell 
him."  Mrs.  Wallace  proceeded  to  retail 
the  information  received  from  the  grocer, 
concluding  with — "I  doot  it's  ower  big  a 
job  fur  yer  man,  but  it  11  be  a  peety  if 
a  jiner  ootside  Kinlochan  gets  it.  I've 
heard  talk  o'  anither  jiner  settin'  up  in 
Kinlochan,  an'  if  the  greenhoose  job 
was  gaun  by  yer  man,  it  micht  come 
to  mair  nor  talk,  an'  that  wud  be  a  bad 
thing  fur  David  Houston — an'  yersel', 
Jess.  .  .  .  Weel,  I  maun  be  aff." 

"Wait,  Aunt  Wallace,  and  I'll  get 
you  a  cup  of  tea." 

"Na,  na.  Never  heed  the  tea.  I've 
got  ma  ludgers  to  luk  efter.  Never  tak' 
in  ludgers,  ma  lassie.  They're  jist  a  tor- 
ment. I  never  done  it  afore  this  year, 
an'  I'll  never  dae't  again — never!  It's 
hard-earned  siller.  I  thocht  I  wud  like 
to  mak'  a  poun'  or  twa  extra,  but — " 
45 


Jess    &    Co. 

"What  have  they  been  doing  now?" 

"Aw,  naethin'  new.  Jist  the  same 
auld  gemm — comin'  doon  wi'  the  late 
boat  when  I've  got  their  teas  ready  fur 
the  early  yin,  an'  comin'  wi'  the  early 
yin  when  I'm  no'  lukin'  fur  them  till  the 
late  yin;  an'  sleepin'  in  i'  the  mornin', 
an'  sweerin'  I  never  waukened  them 
when  ma  haun's  sair  wi'  chappin'  at 
the  bedroom  doors;  an'  cryin'  oot  fur 
suppers — hot  suppers,  mind  ye! — at 
eleeven  o'clock  at  nicht;  an'  hammerin' 
their  hired  piany,  an'  singin'  an'  smokin" 
an'  playin'  cairds  till  twa  i'  the  mornin'; 
an' — weel,  their  time's  up  at  the  end  o' 
the  month,  an'  I'll  no'  be  greetin'  to 
see  their  backs.  Guid  kens  when  I'll  get 
the  smell  o'  smoke  oot  ma  paurlor.  Nae 
mair  ludgers  fur  me!" 

A  minute  later  Mrs.  Wallace  took  her 
departure,  and  Jess  set  about  tidying  up, 
and  preparing  the  evening  meal. 

Afterwards,  as  she  and  David  sat  in 
the  garden  enjoying  the  cool  breeze  that 
had  risen  at  last,  Jess  referred  to  her 
aunt's  visit  and  the  subjects  connected 
with  it. 

"You   know,    Davie,"    she    said,    "I 

don't  blame  Angus.     He's  getting  old, 

and  you  can't  expect  him  to  be  very 

brisk.     But  you'll   have  to  look  after 

46 


Jess    &    Co. 

the  orders  yourself.  It'll  never  do  to 
put  things  on  the  slate  if  he's  going  to 
rub  them  out." 

"Puir  auld  Angus,"  said  David,  with 
a  lenient  smile.  "He  does  his  best. 
Onywey,  I  think  I  can  mind  a'  that  was 
on  the  sclate  the  day.  Dinna  fash 
yersel'  aboot  it,  lass." 

"I'm  glad  you  can  mind  the  orders, 
Davie.  But  it  isn't  the  first  time  it  has 
happened.  Angus  told  aunt  that  her 
order  for  a  lock  for  her  coal-cellar  door 
had  been  rubbed  out  some  time  ago." 

"Oh,  ye're  no*  to  blame  Angus  for 
that,  Jess,  for  I  rubbit  it  oot  masel'." 

"Well,  you  see,  you've  forgotten 
about  the  lock." 

"But  I  didna  want  to  mind  aboot  the 
lock.  Yer  aunt's  no'  needin'  a  lock  on 
her  cellar  door.  Wha's  gaun  to  steal  her 
coals?" 

"Oh,  Davie,  you're  the  queerest 
man!"  she  cried,  half  laughing.  "It 
doesn't  matter  to  us  what  people  need; 
it's  what  they  ask  for." 

"But  I — we  dinna  keep  a  lock  on  oor 
cellar  door.  Yer  aunt  has  a  snib  on 
hers,  an'  that's  a'  she  needs.  .  .  .  Are  ye 
wantin'  me  to  pit  a  lock  on  her  cellar 
door,  Jess?" 

"Of  course.     It's  business,  Davie." 
47 


Jess    &    Co. 

"  Aweel,  I'll  see  abootit,"  he  returned, 
in  a  tone  of  resignation. 

"To-morrow,  Davie?" 

"Ay,  maybe  the  morn." 

With  which  answer  Jess  had  to  be 
content.  At  any  rate,  in  her  eagerness 
to  tell  him  about  the  Arden  House 
gr.eenhouses,  she  let  the  matter  drop. 
She  told  him  briefly. 

To  her  delight  he  became  enthusiastic 
at  once. 

"I  maun  get  that  job!"  he  cried.  "My! 
ye  sud  see  the  gairdens  at  Arden  Hoose ! 
I  wud  tak'  the  job  jist  to  be  workin' 
there." 

"But  you  mustn't  run  away  and 
offer  to  do  it  for  nothing,"  she  said, 
smiling. 

"Nae  fears,  Jess.  You'll  keep  me 
richt  when  we  mak'  up  the  estimate." 

"I'll  try  to,"  said  Jess,  quietly,  but 
looking  pleased.  It  was  sweet  to  think 
that  already  he  recognized  in  her  a  little 
more  than  the  mere  housewife. 

"  I'll  gang  to  Arden  the  morn , "  he  went 
on.  "I  ken  the  heid-gairdener,  an'  he'll 
no'  let  his  maister  gang  past  a  Kinlochan 
man  if  he  can  help  it.  ...  Ay,  I  think  I'll 
get  the  job,  lass,  an'  then  ye '11  no'  be 
aye  thinkin'  we're  gaun  bankrupt." 

"I'm  sure  I  never — "  she  began. 
48 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Weel,  whiles  when  ye're  workin'  at 
the  books  ye  luk  unco  serious.  No'  but 
what  I  used  to  luk  that  way  masel'  afore 
ye  tuk  chairge  o'  the  books." 

"The  books  are  getting  cheerier  every 
day,  lad,"  she  said.  And  so  they  were, 
but  very,  very  little.  There  was  a  big 
account  due  to  David's  principal  timber- 
merchant  which  sometimes  kept  her 
awake  at  night.  Still,  there  was  an 
improvement,  and  if  David  got  the 
Arden  job,  she  felt  he  would  be  well  on 
his  way  out  of  the  wood  which  he  did 
not  know  he  was  wandering  in. 

"I'm  shair  I  dinna  ken  what  I  wud 
dae  wantin'  ye,  Jess,"  he  murmured. 

A  fortnight  later  David  Houston  s 
estimate  was  accepted. 

"I'm  to  get  twa  men  to  help  me,"  he 
told  his  wife.  "It's  the  best  peyin'  job 
I  ever  had.  'Deed,  ye're  the  wumman 
to  mak'  up  an  estimate!  An'  noo  ye 
micht  jist  write  to  Hardy  &  Son 
for  the  wudd.  I'll  tell  ye  what  to 
say." 

So  Jess,  in  her  best  business  hand, 
wrote  to  the  great  timber-merchants. 

And  two  days  went  past. 

And  on  the  third  morning  David 
Houston  was  sitting  in  the  arm-chair, 
49 


Jess    &    Co. 

his  face  in  his  hands,  crushed  and  mis- 
erable. 

Jess,  pale  but  firm,  was  reading  for 
the  third  time  the  following  typewritten 
words : 

"  DEAR  SIR, — We  regret  we  cannot  see  our 
way  to  execute  your  order  of  yesterday's  date 
until  your  present  account  —  statement  en- 
closed— which,  you  must  be  aware,  is  very 
much  overdue,  is  settled.  Your  check  per 
return  will  oblige, 

"Yours  truly, 

"HARDY  &  SON." 


II 

A  Way   Out 

MRS.  WALLACE  found  Jess  sitting 
in  the  cottage  porch  darning  her 
husband's  socks. 

"Ye  didna  expec'  to  see  me  the  day," 
she  said,  shaking  hands  and  taking  the 
chair  which  Jess  had  vacated. 

"  But  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Aunt  Wal- 
lace. How  are  the  lodgers  getting  on  ?" 
Jess  spoke  hurriedly.  Her  thoughts  had 
not  been  entirely  with  the  socks. 

"The  ludgers  is  gettin'  on  fine,"  said 
Mrs.  Wallace,  sourly.  "But  they're 
gettin'  aff  the  morn's  mornin',  an',  as  ye 
see,  I'm  no'  whit  ye  wud  ca'  consumed 
wi'  grief.  Hoo  are  ye  gettin'  on  yersel', 
lass?" 

"First  rate." 

"Mphm!     I  see  ye're  at  the  darnin'." 

"It's  got  to  be  done,  Aunt  Wallace." 

"That's  whit  ye'll  be  sayin'  fifty  year 
efter  this,  if  ye're  spared.     But  ye'll  no' 
say  it  as  cheery  like.     Na!" 
Si 


Jess    &    Co. 

Jess  laughed,  not  altogether  freely. 
"After  all,  it's  not  such  an  awful  busi- 
ness," she  remarked. 

"There's  naethin'  awfu'  but  a  boat 
capsizin'  or  a  railway  collusion,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Wallace,  austerely.  "As 
ye  say,  the  darnin'  o'  yer  man's  socks 
is  no'  an  awfu'  business.  An'  it  keeps  ye 
oot  o'  mischief.  It's  better  fur  ye  nor 
fleein'  aboot  an'  crackin'  wi'  yer  nee- 
bors." 

It  occurred  to  Jess  to  offer  the  old 
lady  a  few  undarned  socks  to  take  home 
with  her,  but  she  refrained. 

"  'Deed,  ay!"  went  on  Mrs.  Wallace. 
"I'm  gled  ye've  aye  plenty  to  dae. 
There's  plenty  clatterin'  tongues  in 
Kinlochan  wi'oot  addin'  to  them.  As  I 
wis  comin'  alang  the  road  the  noo  I 
seen  Mistress  Foulis  leanin'  ower  the 
hedge  ha'ein'  a  crack  wi'  Mistress  Mc- 
Greegor.  an'  ye  wud  ha'e  thocht  the  twa 
o'  them  wis  tryin'  fur  a  prize  fur  the  yin 
that  cud  get  oot  the  maist  words  in  a 
meenit.  I  wisht  ye  had  heard  the  gab- 
blin',  Jess! — fur  it  wis  jist  gabblin'  an' 
naethin'  else." 

"Were  they  quarrelling?" 

"Na,  na.  If  they  had  been  quar- 
rellin'  there  micht  ha'e  been  some  ex- 
cuse. I'm  kin'  o'  quick  wi'  ma  tongue 
52 


Jess    &    Co. 

masel'  when  I'm  pit  oot.  But  the  twa 
of  them  wis  jist  ha'ein'  a  bit  crack  aboot 
naethin'  in  parteeclar.  An'  when  folk 
stairt  to  crack  aboot  naethin',  there's 
naethin'  can  stop  them.  Na!" 

"Which  deserved  the  prize,  d'you 
think?"  Jess  asked,  for  the  sake  of  say- 
ing something. 

"Aweel,  I  wudna  like  to  say.  But  I 
doot  Mistress  Foulis  wud  win  in  the  end, 
fur  Mistress  McGreegor  's  that  stoot  an' 
gets  oot  o'  breith  after  an  'oor  or  twa. 
It's  practice  that  keeps  her  up,  fur  her 
an'  Mistress  Foulis  are  aye  at  it.  I 
never  come  alang  the  road  wi'oot  hear- 
in'  them.  An'  I'm  shair  I  hope  ye'll 
never  be  like  either  o'  them,  ma 
lass." 

"I  hope  not,  Aunt  Wallace,"  said  the 
niece,  with  a  smile. 

"  But  ye're  nane  the  waur  o'  a  bit 
warnin'.  Ye  never  ken  whit's  afore  ye. 
I've  seen  mony  a  quate  young  yin  like 
yersel'  turn  intil  a  haverin'  buddy  jist 
frae  sheer  want  o'  plenty  to  dae.  So  it's 
a'  fur  yer  guid  if  yer  man's  sair  on  his 
socks." 

Here  Mrs.  Wallace  picked  up  one  of 
the  articles  in  question  and  examined 
it  critically. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  not  a  very  neat  darn- 
53 


Jess    &    Co. 

er,"  said  Jess,  partly  irritated  and  partly 
amused. 

"I  wud  be  tellin'  a  lee  if  I  said  ye 
wis,"  returned  her  aunt.  "  Maybe  ye've 
heafd  tell  o'  the  man — I  canna  mind 
whether  he  wis  a  saint  or  a  eediot — that 
gaed  aff  on  a  pilgrimage  wi'  peas  in  his 
shoes.  Eh?" 

Mrs.  Houston  laughed  good-natured- 
ly. "  I've  heard  that  he  boiled  the  peas 
first,  aunt." 

"Mphm!  ...  I  suppose  ye're  intendin' 
fur  to  bile  yer, man's  socks  ?  Ha!  ha!  ha! 
.  .  .  Tits,  lassie,  I'm  no'  meanin'  to  hurt 
yer  feelin's.  Yer  darnin'  isna  jist  as 
bad  as  a' that.  See!  Gi'e's  yer  needle 
fur  a  meenit."  And  the  old  woman 
proceeded  to  give  the  young  one  a, short 
object-lesson  in  darning. 

"I  don't  know  how  you  do  it,  Aunt 
Wallace,"  cried  Jess,  at  last,  her  slight 
resentment  giving  place  to  honest  ad- 
miration. "You  could  hardly  tell  it 
was  a  darn!" 

"Havers!"  muttered  Mrs.  Wallace, 
trying  not  to  look  pleased.  "But  ye 
see  hoo  it's  dune?  Eh?" 

The  young  woman  nodded. 

"  Ma  guidman  used  to  say  he  preferred 
the  darns  to  the  rest  o'  the  sock.  He 
wis  an'  unco  blether,  wis  ma  guidman, 
54 


Jess    &    Co. 

when  he  wis  leevin',"  said  Mrs.  Wallace, 
smiling  a  little  less  coldly  than  her  wont. 
"Ay,  ay.  He  wis  aye  peyin'  compli- 
ments or  makin'  complaints.  Ye'll 
hardly  mind  yer  Uncle  Wallace,  Jess?" 

"Not  very  well." 

"Ah,  ye  canna  be  expec'it  to  mind 
him.  But  fur  a  man  he  wisna  bad — na, 
he  wisna  bad.  In  fac',  I  micht  say  I 
never  kent  a  better  man.  An',  efter  a', 
his  complainin'  micht  ha'e  been  waur, 
an'  his  compliments  cudna  ha'e  been 
better.  Ye  see,  he  aye  peyed  a  com- 
pliment jist  afore  he  made  a  complaint, 
so  I  wis  aye  ready  fur  the  complaint, 
an'  I  jist  never  heedit.  There's  nae- 
thing  cures  a  man's  complaints  quicker 
nor  peyin'  nae  attention  to  them.  Yer 
uncle  never  complained  twice  aboot  the 
same  thing.  He  aye  had  something 
new,  an'  that  kep'  him  frae  gettin'  tire- 
some. 'Deed,  ay;  he  wisna  bad  fur  a 
man.  .  .  .  Has  yer  ain  man  begood  to 
complain  yet?" 

Jess  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"Aweel,  there's  time  enough  yet. 
But  when  he  begins,  dinna  fash  yersel'. 
Noo  an'  then  ye  can  gi'e  him  a  saft  an- 
swer like  whit  I  used  to  gi'e  whiles  to 
yer  uncle.  I  mind  yinst  he  slep  in  i' 
the  mornin',  an'  cam'  in  late  to  his 
55 


Jess    &    Co. 

breakfast.  'Whit  kep'  ye?'  says  I.  ... 
'  Oh,'  says  he,  smilin'  that  sweetlike, 
'I  cudna  help  turnin'  ower  an'  ha'ein' 
anither  wee  bit  dream  aboot  ye,  ma 
dear.'  .  .  .  That  wis  the  compliment,  Jess, 
an'  I  kent  fine  there  wis  mair  to  come. 
.  .  .  '  This  ham's  hauf  cauld,'  he  says,  luk- 
in'  at  me  across  the  table.  .  .  .  That  wis 
the  complaint,  ye  see!  .  .  .  '  Weel,'  says  I, 
wi'oot  lossin'  ma  temper,  'if  ye  dinna 
eat  it  quick  it  '11  be  quite  cauld.'  .  .  .  He 
never  spoke  aboot  ham  again.  An',  as  I 
wis  sayin',  a  saft  answer's  worth  try  in' 
noo  an'  then." 

Mrs.  Wallace  paused  for  a  few  seconds. 
Then  in  her  usual  abrupt  fashion  she 
said,  "An"  whit  tuk  David  to  Glesca  the 
day?" 

Jess  started.  Her  husband  had  gone 
to  town  by  the  early  steamer,  and  she 
had  been  hoping  that  her  aunt  was 
unaware  of  the  fact.  "Did  you  see 
Davie,  Aunt  Wallace?"  she  inquired, 
stooping  to  pick  up  the  sock  she  had 
dropped. 

"Ogilvy,  the  grocer,  wis  tellin'  me  he 
seen  him  gaun  on  board  the  boat,  an' 
twa-three  ither  folk  in  Kinlochan  wis 
speirin'  if  I  kent  whit  his  business 
wis." 

Mrs.  Houston  flushed  angrily.  "His 
56 


Jess    &    Co. 

business  is  none  of  theirs,  anyhow!"  she 
said,  quickly. 

"Och,  ye  needna  flee  up,  Jess,"  said 
the  old  woman,  soothingly,  but  with  a 
curious  glance  at  her  niece.  "It's  jist 
the  Kinlochan  wey.  x  Ye  micht  ken  that 
by  this  time." 

"  It's  a  horrible  way!"  cried  the  other, 
her  lip  quivering. 

"Toots,  havers !  There's  naethin'  hor- 
rible but  murder  an'  earthquakes.  Ye 
see,  the  folk  thocht  it  wis  kin'  o'  queer 
fur  yer  man  to  gang  to  Glesca  the  day, 
when  he  micht  ha'e  waitit  till  Setturday 
an'  got  the  chape  tucket." 

"But  this  is  only  Tuesday." 

"Ah,  but  the  Kinlochan  folk  thinks  it 
maun  be  gey  important  business  or 
pleesure  if  it  canna  wait  twa-three  days." 

"I  don't  care  what  the  Kinlochan 
folk  think!" 

"Weel,  weel,  it's  jist  their  curiosity, 
an'  I  suppose  they  dinna  mean  ony 
hairm,  though  I  wudna  like  to  be  aye 
curious  aboot  ither  folk's  business  like 
some  o'  them.  Ma  motto  is  to  mind  yer 
ain  business.  Ay!" 

In  spite  of  her  worry  Jess  nearly 
laughed. 

"  'Deed,  ay!"  continued  Mrs.  Wallace. 
"It's  a  sad  job  when  folk  is  aye  wun- 
57 


Jess    &    Co. 

nerin'  an'  speirin'  aboot  yin  anither.  .  .  . 
I  suppose  ye're  expec'in'  David  hame  the 
nicht?" 

"Oh  yes.  I  think  he'll  be  here  with 
the  next  boat." 

"Ye  wud  be  rale  prood  that  he  got  the 
job  o'  the  Arden  greenhooses." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  Mrs.  Houston  an- 
swered, trying  to  smile. 

"I  wis  hearin'  the  Fairport  jiner  wis 
wild  at  no'  gettin'  the  job.  He  had 
been  ower  shair  o'  gettin'  it,  an'  he 
had  laid  in  a  heap  o'  wudd,  an'  noo  he 
disna  ken  whit  to  dae  wi'  the  wudd,  the 
stupit  buddy!  Ye  can  be  ower  smairt 
as  well  as  ower  slow  in  this  warld.  I 
dinna  think  David  Houston  wud  ha'e 
made  a  mistak'  that  wey.  Nae  doot  it's 
the  wudd  that  tuk  him  to  Glesca  the 
day." 

"Yes,"  said  Jess,  wondering  mis- 
erably how  her  husband  had  succeed- 
ed in  his  interview  with  Hardy  & 
Son. 

"I  kin'  o'  thocht  it  wis  the  wudd," 
said  Mrs.  Wallace,  secretly  delighted  at 
having  extracted  her  desired  informa- 
tion. For  once  she  had  got  ahead  of  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  the  village  oracle,  who  had  been 
inclined  to  think  that  the  joiner  had 
gone  to  town  merely  on  pleasure,  seeing 
58 


Jess    &    Co. 

that  he  had  worn  a  felt  hat,  and  not  the 
customary  cloth  cap. 

"Weel,  I  maun  gang  noo,"  she  an- 
nounced, preparatory  to  rising.  "I 
suppose  yer  man  hasna  been  talkin'  in 
his  sleep  lately?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Houston,  a  little 
puzzled. 

"I  thocht  he  micht  ha'e  mentioned  a 
lock  fur  ma  coal-cellar  door.  Of  coorse, 
ye  ken,  I  dinna  want  to  hurry  him,  but 
I've  a  kin'  o'  ambeetion,  as  it  were,  to 
see  a  lock  on  that  door  afore  I  dee.  But 
maybe  it's  whit  the  story-books  ca'  a 
wild  an'  hopeless  ambeetion.  Hooever, 
ye  can  tell  David  I'm  no'  thinkin'  o' 
deein'  fur  a  year  or  twa  yet,  an' —  Mercy 
me!  wha's  this  comin'  to  see  ye?" 

A  lady  was  bidding  another  good-bye 
at  the  gate,  and  was  evidently  about  to 
enter. 

"Oh,  dear!"  sighed  Jess.  "It's  Miss 
Perk,  from  Point  View." 

"If  it's  her,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace,  rising, 
"she's  gotten  a  new  hat,  an'  a  daftlike 
yin  furbye.  Weel,  I  canna  thole  Miss 
Perk,  hat  or  nae  hat;  so  I'll  bid  ye — " 

"Don't    go,    Aunt    Wallace,    please 

don't   go,"    the   young  wife   implored. 

"If  you  stay  she  won't  wait  long.     If 

she   catches  me  alone,   she'll  wait  till 

s  59 


Jess    &    Co. 

Davie  comes  home,  and  I — I  don't  want 
that." 

"Ye  dinna  mean  to  tell  me  ye're  feart 
fur  her!" 

"I  am — I  am.  At  least,  I'm  not  exact- 
ly afraid,  but — but — I  don't  care  about 
her.  She's  always  coming  to  lecture  me 
about  Davie." 

' '  D  'ye  tell  me  that  ?  She  better  leave 
that  to  me,  the  impiddent  auld  maid! 
She  thinks  she's  a  kin'  o'  queen  amang 
the  Kinlochan  folk  because  she  bides 
here  through  the  winter  an'  tak's  the 
front  place  at  a'  the  sewin'-meetin's  an' 
the  like.  An'  the  warst  o'  it  is  that  the 
Kinlochan  folk  boo  doon  to  her — no' 
fur  love,  fur  she  never  gi'ed  awa'  ony- 
thin'  dearer  nor  advice  that  naebody 
wants,  but  jist  fur —  Aw,  here  she's 
comin'."  Mrs.  Wallace's  voice  sank  to 
a  whisper.  "Never  heed,  Jess.  I'll  no' 
desert  ye." 

Mrs.  Houston  threw  her  relative  a 
grateful  glance,  and  left  the  porch  to 
meet  her  visitor,  who  came  briskly  up 
the  path  with  a  business-like  air  and  a 
somewhat  patronizing  smile. 

Miss  Perk,  who,  with  an  aged  mother, 

lived  "on  her  money"  at  Point  View, 

might  have  been  anything  between  forty 

and  sixty  years  of  age,  to  judge  by  her 

60 


Jess    &    Co. 

appearance.  Let  us  call  it  fifty.  She 
was  middle-sized  in  every  way,  mentally 
as  well  as  physically,  but  among  the 
Kinlochan  natives  she  had  gained  the 
reputation  of  being  "mair  nor  or'nar' 
clever  fur  a  wumman,"  and  was  held  in 
considerable  awe,  if  not  respect.  She 
had  gained  her  reputation  for  cleverness 
by  the  simple  method  of  talking  a  deal 
and  doing  nothing.  And  yet  it  would  be 
unfair  to  deny  that  she  meant  well.  But 
she  was  a  woman  given  to  such  phrases 
as  "quite  a  lady"  and  "a  terribly 
common  person";  and,  though  over- 
flowing with  good  advice  for  her  humbler 
fellow-beings,  she  was  practically  void 
of  sympathy.  She  forced  herself  upon 
the  Kinlochan  folk,  who  were  too  simple 
and  kindly  to  tell  her  to  mind  her  own 
business.  As  a  young  man  once  put  it 
— vulgarly,  perhaps — she  tried  to  elevate 
the  masses  like  balloons — with  gas. 

She  shook  hands  with  Jess  as  if  she 
were  conferring  a  favor.  "I  thought  I 
would  just  pop  in  and  see  how  you  were 
getting  on  after  our  last  little  chat,  Mrs. 
Houston,"  she  said,  graciously.  "Has 
your  husband  come  home  yet?" 

"  No,  Miss  Perk,"  Jess  replied,  adding, 
"my  aunt  is  with  me  this  afternoon." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Perk,  shortly, 
61 


Jess    &    CD. 

and  at  that  moment  she  caught  sight  of 
Mrs.  Wallace  sitting  in  the  porch,  her 
face  wearing  its  grimmest  expression. 

Miss  Perk  was  annoyed,  but,  assuming 
her  platform  smile,  she  stepped  forward 
and  shook  hands  with  the  older  woman. 
"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Wallace  ?  Is  this 
not  a  beautiful  day?" 

"I'm  pretty  middlin',  thenk  ye;  an' 
I'm  no'  sayin'  onythin'  agin  the  weather. 
.  .  .  Jess,  ye  micht  bring  a  sate  here  fur 
yer  veesitor.  I  ken  ye  canna  ask  her 
into  the  hoose  the  day." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  cottage  had 
never  been  tidier,  but  Mrs.  Wallace  had 
the  presentiment  that,  out  of  politeness, 
her  niece  might  be  weak  enough  to 
invite  Miss  Perk  to  sit  in  the  parlor. 

Jess  brought  a  chair,  which  Miss  Perk 
accepted,  though  she  would  rather  have 
gone  in-doors,  leaving  Mrs.  Wallace  to 
herself.  Still,  she  was  not  going  to 
allow  the  presence  of  a  "common  old 
woman"  to  interfere  with  the  object  of 
her  visit. 

"Would  you  take  a  cup  of  tea?"  Mrs. 
Houston  hospitably  inquired. 

"  Oh  no,  thank  you.  I  had  tea  at  Mrs. 
Spright's  a  few  minutes  ago." 

Here  Mrs.  Wallace  scored  again. 
"Thenk  ye,  ma  dear,"  she  said,  calmly, 
62 


Jess    &    Co. 

to  Jess,  "I  cud  dae  wi'  a  dish  o'  tea  fine. 
An'  I'll  tak  it  oot  here  when  it's  ready. 
Maybe  yer  veesitor  '11  change  her  mind." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Miss  Perk, 
stiffly. 

"Please  excuse  me  leaving  you,"  said 
Jess. 

"Oh,  certainly.  We  can  have  our  little 
chat  presently." 

Mrs.  Wallace's  lips  tightened.  "  May- 
be," she  said,  to  herself. 

Mrs.  Houston,  almost  alarmed  by  her 
aunt's  temerity  in  braving  such  an  im- 
portant person  as  Miss  Perk,  left  the 
ill  -  assorted  twain  and  retired  to  the 
kitchen. 

A  silence  brooded  in  the  porch  till  at 
last  Miss  Perk,  smothering  her  irritation, 
remarked,  with  forced  pleasantness: 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  see  you  at  any  of 
our  meetings,  Mrs.  Wallace." 

"I  daur  say  that,  ma'am." 

"The  winter  is  approaching  again,  and 
we  expect  to  have  some  delightful  and, 
I  think  I  may  add,  really  helpful  meet- 
ings. I  am  preparing  a  series  of  lectures 
on  'The  first  year  of  married  life,' 
which  1  hope  will — " 

"Weel,  I  doot  that's  a  wee  thing 
juvenile  fur  me,  ma'am.  An',  furbye, 
I'm  better  at  gi'ein'  a  bit  lectur'  masel' 
63 


Jess    &    Co. 

nor  listenin'  to  yin,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace, 
with  a  dry  smile. 

The  other  attempted  a  laugh  as  she 
returned:  "Still,  Mrs.  Wallace,  I  think 
you  would  find  it  worth  your  while  to 
attend,  and  persuade  Mrs.  Houston  and 
her  husband  to  attend  also." 

Mrs.  Wallace  did  not  respond. 

"I  may  say  I  take  a  great  interest  in 
your  niece,"  continued  Miss  Perk. 

"I  micht  say  the  same,  ma'am." 

"Yes,  yes.  No  doubt,"  said  Miss 
Perk,  with  an  impatient  movement  of 
her  hand.  "And  I  may  say  further  that 
I  consider  her  quite  a  capable  young 
woman,  whose  mind  has  been  cultivated, 
considering  her  station  in  life,  to  a 
considerable  extent.  .  .  .  What  did  you 
say,  Mrs.  Wallace?" 

"I  didna  say  onythin',"  said  the  old 
woman,  apparently  swallowing  some- 
thing. 

"Well,  as  I  was  about  to  observe.  I 
feel  it  would  be  a  pity  if  that  cultivation 
were  now  to  cease.  No  doubt  her  hus- 
band is  an  estimable  man,  though  I 
could  wish  him  more  industrious.  I 
heard  that  he  went  to  town  this  morn- 
ing, obviously  for  a  day's  pleasure,  and  I 
hear  many  complaints  of  his  dilatoriness 
in  executing  the  orders  entrusted  to  him. 
64 


Jess    &    Co. 

Personally  I  should  not  dream  of  asking 
him  to  perform  any  repairs  on  my 
account." 

Miss  Perk  was  so  taken  up  with  herself 
that  she  failed  to  notice  the  countenance 
of  Mrs.  Wallace.  "Now,"  she  went  on, 
"I've  no  doubt  that  if  you  would  induce 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Houston  to  attend  our 
meetings,  they  would  both  benefit  con- 
siderably. As  I  said,  the  husband  is 
doubtless  an  estimable  man,  but  there 
is  certainly  room  for  improvement,  men- 
tally if  not  morally.  You,  Mrs.  Wal- 
lace, must  naturally  be  anxious  about 
your  niece's  welfare,  and,  of  course,  it  is 
your  duty  to  influence  the  young  couple 
in  the  right  direction." 

Mrs.  Wallace,  with  a  tremendous 
effort,  restrained  her  temper,  but  her 
speech  was  rather  thick,  while  beads  of 
perspiration  broke  out  on  her  wrinkled 
forehead.  "I  canna  say  I  see  muckle 
wrang  wi'  Jess  an'  her  man.  They're 
kind  to  yin  anither,  an'  they're  happy 
thegither,  an',  efter  a',  it's  nae  great 
maitter  if  yin  or  twa  o'  the  gentry  aboot 
here  gangs  to  the  jiners  at  Kilmabeg  an' 
Fairport." 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  Miss  Perk,  in 
some  confusion.  "Of  course,  I  never 
meant  to  imply  that  there  was  any- 
65 


Jess    &    Co. 

thing  wrong;  nor  did  I  suggest  that  they 
were  not  kind  and  happy.  But  is  kind- 
ness and  happiness  sufficient?" 

"Deed,  ay!  if  ye  ha'e  them  in 
plenty." 

Miss  Perk  shook  her  head  pityingly. 
"It  is  the  duty  of  every  human  being 
to  improve  his  or  her  intellect,  Mrs. 
Wallace." 

"D'ye  mean  books,  ma'am?  Fur 
Jess  is  a  great  reader  when  she  gets  the 
time,  and  her  man's  no'  jist  as  eegnorant 
as  some  micht  suppose." 

"  Books  are  certainly  good,  but  I  hold 
that  the  spoken  word  is  more  effective." 

"Mphm!  .  .  .  Whiles  .  .  .  But  I  doot 
guid  books  is  easier  got  nor  guid  speak- 
ers, ma'am." 

"Good  speakers,  as  you  suggest,  are 
no  doubt  comparatively  rare,"  said  Miss 
Perk,  modestly.  "But  one  must  do  one's 
best. ' '  She  was  going  to  say  a  good  deal 
more,  but  Mrs.  Wallace,  who  could  en- 
dure no  more,  sat  up  in  her  chair  and 
bawled  through  the  doorway: 

"Jess!     Is  ma  tea  no'  ready  yet ?" 

"Just  coming,"  came  the  reply. 

"I  suppose  it  is  time  you  were  getting 

home,  Mrs.  Wallace.     I  understand  you 

have    some    young   men    lodging    with 

you,"  Miss  Perk  remarked,  pleasantly. 

66 


Jess    &    Co. 

She  had  a  satisfied  feeling  that  she  had 
impressed  the  old  woman,  yet  looked 
forward  to  getting  rid  of  her. 

"Oh,  I'm  in  plenty  of  time  fur  ma 
ludgers,  thenk  ye.  But  I  dinna  want 
to  keep  Jess  frae  gettin'  ready  fur  her 
man  comin'  hame.  I  sudna  ha'e  askit 
fur  the  tea,  I  doot." 

"I  should  much  like  to  have  a  word 
with  Mr.  Houston,"  said  the  visitor. 

"  Weel,  ye '11  get  him  in  the  shope  near 
every  day.  He'll  be  busy  fur  a  while 
at  the  Arden  greenhooses.  .  .  .  Oh,  ye 
didna  hear  he  had  gotten  that  job? 
'Deed,  it  wis  a  fine  compliment  to  him! 
But,  ye  see,  he's  an  extra  fine  workman; 
an'  if  folk  wants  a  thing  dune  weel — no' 
chape,  ye  ken — they  gang  to  David 
Houston." 

At  this  juncture  Jess  arrived  with  the 
tea,  and  Mrs.  Wallace,  having  helped 
herself,  said,  with  unusual  geniality: 

"I'm  vexed  fur  gi'ein'  ye  a'  this 
trouble,  ma  lass,  fur  ye'll  need  to  be 
gettin'  ready  fur  yer  man.  .  .  .  Hech! 
but  I  near  burnt  ma  mooth.  I'll  tak 
a  drappie  mair  mulk,  an'  drink  it  quick." 
She  gulped  her  tea  in  a  fashion  that 
Miss  Perk  thought  extremely  vulgar. 
"Weel,  that  wis  maist  refreshin'!  An' 
noo  it's  time  I  wis  awa'.  Ye  better  see 
67 


Jess    &    Co. 

aboot   yer   man's   tea.     I'm   shair   yer 
veesitor  '11  excuse  ye." 

Mrs.  Houston  felt  and  looked  uncom- 
fortable as  Miss  Perk  rose,  red  with 
anger,  and  said,  coldly: 

"I  fear  I  must  be  going,  but  I  shall 
hope  to  have  a  little  chat  with  you  on 
an  important  matter  ere  long.  I  trust 
it  may  be  at  a  more  convenient  season. 
Good-bye,  Mrs.  Houston.  Remember 
me  to  your  husband.  Good-bye,  Mrs. 
Wallace—" 

"  Oh,  we'll  gang  to  the  gate  thegither," 
said  Mrs.  Wallace,  with  the  utmost  cheer- 
fulness. "Come  awa',  Jess." 

Miss  Perk  did  not  wait  for  a  second 
good-bye  at  the  gate,  but  marched  off 
without  delay. 

"  I  wis  feart  she  micht  slip  back  efter 
I  wis  awa',"  said  Mrs.  Wallace,  with  a 
chuckle. 

"Oh,  aunt,"  cried  Jess,  «"I  hope  you 
didn't  offend  her.  I  shouldn't  have 
left  her  like  yon.  But  I — I  couldn't 
bear  her  to-day,  and  I'm  so  thankful  to 
you." 

"Havers,  lass!  Never  you  heed  her. 
She's  jist  a  bletherin'  buddy.  Aff  ye 
gang  an'  get  yer  man's  tea  ready.  I'll 
maybe  see  ye  the  morn  when  I'm  quit  o' 
ma  ludgers.  Guid-bye,  ma  dearie." 
68 


Jess    &    Co. 

It  was  a  very  dejected  husband  that 
came  home  that  evening.  Jess  was  in 
the  porch  waiting  for  him,  and  at  the 
sight  of  him  coming  up  the  path  from 
the  gate,  without  the  meerest  glance  at 
the  flower-beds,  all  the  hope  in  her  heart 
went  out  like  a  flash. 

He  laid  his  hand  for  an  instant  on  her 
shoulder,  and  walked  past  her  into  the 
kitchen.  She  brushed  away  a  tear,  and 
followed  him. 

"Your  tea's  ready,  Davie,"  she  said, 
quietly. 

"Ay,"  he  returned,  indifferently,  seat- 
ing himself  at  the  neatly  arranged  table. 

He  made  a  poor  meal,  but  she  made  a 
poorer. 

"Have  your  smoke,  Davie,"  she  said, 
when  he  had  pushed  away  his  plate. 

He  followed  her  suggestion  in  silence, 
keeping  his  eyes  lowered.  Indeed,  he 
had  not  faced  her  since  his  return. 

At  length  Jess  spoke.  "Would  they 
not  give  you  what  you  wanted,  Davie?" 
she  asked,  softly. 

"Jist  that,"  he  muttered. 

"Poor  lad!  Did  you  see  Mr.  Hardy 
himself?" 

David  shook  his  head.  "The  auld 
man  that  ma  fayther  did  business  wi' 
is  deid  an'  gone.  I'm  thinkin'  it  wud 
69 


Jess    &    Co. 

ha'e  been  different  if  he  had  been  there, 
Jess,"  he  added,  sadly. 

"And  who  did  you  see?" 

"The  managin'  director,  I  was  tell't. 
But  I  dinna  mind  his  name." 

"And  he  wouldn't  oblige  you?" 

"  No'  wi'  a  penny's  worth.  An'  I  had 
to  gi'e  him  a  bill  at  three  months  for  the 
accoont." 

"A  bill — at  three  months?  Oh,  Da- 
vie!" 

"Ye  may  weel  be  ashamed  o'  yer 
man,  Jess,"  he  groaned,  miserably. 

"Ashamed!  I'll  never  be  that.  Did 
you  try  any  of  the  other  wood  mer- 
chants?" 

"  I  hadna  the  hert.  Ye  see  it  was  sic 
a  lot  o'  wudd  that  was  needit.  They 
wud  ha'e  wantit  cash,  or  a  reference, 
enywoy.  ...  I'll  jist  ha'e  to  fling  up  the 
Arden  job.  I  cudna  ask  for  money  in 
advance,  though  I've  nae  doot  I  wud  get 
it.  But  I  cudna  dae't  .  .  .  I'm  rale  vexed 
for  ye,  ma  lass." 

"Oh,  Davie!  You're  not  to  talk  that 
way!  Indeed,  you're  not  to  talk  about 
it  at  all  for  a  little,  and  then  we'll  see 
what's  to  be  done.  I'm  quite  sure  you 
won't  have  to  fling  up  the  Arden  job. 
You'll  get  wood  somehow.  .  .  .  Away  out 
to  the  garden  till  I  get  the  dishes  washed, ' ' 
70 


Jess    &    Co. 

He  obeyed  silently,  and  his  wife,  neg- 
lecting the  dishes,  sat  down  in  the  arm- 
chair and  thought  hard.  She  had  an 
idea,  but  she  was  afraid  to  mention  it  to 
him  lest  it  should  prove  unworkable. 
But  at  last  she  made  up  her  mind,  and 
followed  him  to  the  garden,  where  he 
was  already  interested  in  some  of  his 
flowers. 

"Davie,"  she  began,  nervously,  "is 
there  anything  special  about  this  wood 
you  require  ?  Would  it  do  for  anything 
besides  greenhouses?" 

"No'  for  mony  things.  The  wudd 
wantit  for  Arden  is  a  special  sort  an'  a 
special  size.  But  what  dae  ye — " 

"Are  there  many  big  greenhouses 
about  Fairport?" 

"Na!     Nane  ava'.     But — " 

"Who  is  the  joiner  at  Fairport, 
Davie?" 

"Jamie  Proudfoot." 

"Do  you  know  him?" 

"Fine.  He  used  to  work  for  ma 
fayther." 

"  But  are  you  and  he  quite  friendly?" 

"What  for  no'?     But,  Jess — " 

"  But  he  was  tryin'  for  the  Arden  job, 
wasn't  he?  That  wasn't  very  friendly, 
surely." 

"Och,  that  was  a'  in  the  wey  o'  busi- 


Jess    &    Co. 

ness.  But  what  are  ye  speirin'  for, 
Jess?" 

Jess  summoned  all  her  courage. 
"Well,  I  was  just  wondering  if  —  if  you 
couldn't  get  the  wood  from  Jamie  Proud  - 
foot.  He  would  trust  you,  wouldn't 
he?" 

"I'm  shair  he  wud  dae  that,  lass," 
said  David,  sadly;  "but,  ye  see,  he's  no' 
a  merchant.  He  hasna  got  the  wudd  I 
need." 

"But  he  has!"  cried  she,  a  note  of 
hope  in  her  voice.  And  she  told  David 
the  little  bit  of  news  she  had  heard  from 
her  aunt. 

"Weel,  weel,"  said  David,  when  he 
understood.  "  If  I  had  kent  that,  I  wud 
never  ha'e  gaed  to  Glesca  the  day." 

"  It  was  me  that  made  you  go  to  Glas- 
gow," she  sighed.  "Poor  Davie!" 

"Ma  dear!  It  was  the  richt  thing 
to  dae,"  he  said,  half  in  sorrow,  half  in 
shame. 

"And  will  you  go  and  see  the  Fair- 
port  man  now?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"The  nicht?" 

She  nodded.  "It  won't  take  you 
long  on  your  bicycle.  An' — an',  Davie, 
make  him  think  you're  doing  him  a 
favor  taking  the  wood  off  his  hands, 
for  that's  just  what  you  are  doing,  and 
72 


Jess    &    Co. 

tell  him  straight  that  you  won't  pay 
him  for  a  little  yet;  d'you  understand  ?" 

"Ay,"  he  said,  after  a  moment.  His 
eyes,  alight  with  admiration,  were  turn- 
ed to  her. 

She  touched  him  lightly  on  the  cheek. 
"Get  your  bicycle,"  she  said. 

A  minute  later  she  watched  him  ride 
away  on  his  old  solid-tired  machine. 
"Good  luck,  Davie!"  she  called  after 
him. 

By  the  next  afternoon  Jamie  Proud- 
foot's  wood  was  in  David  Houston's 
yard,  and,  in  spite  of  the  bill  at  three 
months,  Jess  went  about  her  work  sing- 
ing. 


IV 
Aunt   Wallace   at    Home 

H,  it's  yersel',  is  it?"  said  Mrs. 
Wallace,  opening  the  door  to  her 
niece.  "Whit's  ado?  Ye're  faur  ower 
early.  Ye  wis  bidden  to  come  at  sax, 
an'  it's  jist  new  chappit  five.  Whaur's 
Da  vie?" 

"He's  coming  at  the  proper  time,  Aunt 
Wallace ;  but  I  hurried  up  with  my  work 
and  came  along  to  see  if  I  could  help  you 
with  anything,"  Jess  returned,  pleas- 
antly. 

"I'm  nae  great  believer  in  folk — 
especially  young  mairrit  weemen — 
hurry  in'  up  wi'  their  wark,  as  ye  pit  it, 
an'  I'm  no'  whit  I  wud  ca'  in  desperate 
need  o'  assistance.  But  seem'  ye 're 
here,  ye  best  come  in." 

Mrs.  Houston,  with  a  smile,  accepted 
the  not  very  gracious  invitation,  and 
made  to  step  indoors. 

"Wipe  yer  feet!  Wipe  yer  feet!"  ex- 
claimed her  aunt,  pointing  to  the  mat. 
74 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I'm  jist  new  done  washin'  the  waux- 
cloth.  Macerty!  D'ye  think  I  want  a 
gairden  in  ma  lobby  fur  yer  man  to 
plant  carnations  in  ?  ...  Aw,  that  '11  dae. 
Ye  needna  nib  a  hole  in  ma  mat.  Come 
ben  the  hoose." 

Suppressing  a  laugh,  Jess  entered  the 
cottage  and  followed  Mrs.  Wallace  to  the 
kitchen. 

"You've  been  baking,  Aunt  Wallace," 
she  remarked,  as  she  unpinned  her  plain 
straw  hat. 

"Ay,  I've  been  bakin'.  If  ye  had 
come  shinner  ye  micht  ha'e  gotten  a 
lesson.  But  ye're  ower  late  noo." 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Houston,  half  humbly,  half  defiantly. 
"Were  you  baking  scones?" 

"I  wisna  bakin'  cahootchy,  onywey. 
Ha'e  ye  been  tryin'  onythin'  in  that  line 
lately,  Jess?  But  I  suppose  no',  fur 
Davie  wis  lukin'  weel  the  last  time  I  seen 
him.  Tits!  I'm  jist  jokin'!  Ye'llbea 
baker  yet!  Keep  a  licht  hert  an'  a 
licht  haun',  an'  mind  the  sody,  an' 
ye'll  turn  oot  scones  fit  fur  angels.  .  .  . 
My!  but  ye're  drest  the  nicht,  lass!" 
Mrs.  Wallace  exclaimed,  as  the  young 
woman  removed  her  jacket.  "Whit 
did  ye  pey  fur  that?  A  bonny  penny, 
I'm  thinkin'." 

6  75 


Jess    &    Co. 

"You  mean  my  blouse?  I  made  it 
myself,  aunt." 

"Did  ye?  Weel,  it's  no'  bad;  no" 
bad,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace,  slowly.  "I'm 
gled  to  see  ye've  no'  pit  ower  mony 
falderals  aboot  it,  like  some  o'  the 
lasses  ye  see  here  on  the  Sawbath. 
Plain  claes  fur  plain  folk — that's  ma 
motto.  'Deed,  ay!  Plain  claes  fur — " 

"I  suppose  you  never  cared  about 
ribbons  and  things  when  you  were  a 
girl,  Aunt  Wallace." 

"Eh?  Whit's  that  ye're  sayin'? 
Humph!  I've  nae  time  fur  ony  mair 
haverin'.  I  thocht  ye  said  ye  cam' 
early  to  help  me." 

"So  I  did.  What  can  I  do?"  asked 
the  other,  checking  a  smile. 

"Ye  can  gang  an'  set  the  table  in  the 
paurlor.  The  cloth's  laid,  an'  ye  ken 
whaur  to  get  the  dishes — the  best  yins. 
Be  canny  wi'  them,  Jess.  I'll  be  efter 
ye  in  twa  meenits." 

Jess  departed  to  the  parlor  and  pro- 
ceeded to  lay  the  tea  things,  humming  a 
merry  tune  to  herself.  She  was  in  gay 
spirits,  for  less  than  an  hour  ago  she  had 
posted  the  money  required  to  meet  the 
bill  due  by  David  to  Hardy  &  Son,  the 
timber  -  merchants.  It  had  been  a 
terribly  anxious  three  months  for  the 
76 


Jess    &    Co. 

young  wife,  and  she  was  only  too  well 
aware  that  her  husband's  affairs  were 
still  far  from  being  in  a  sound  condition, 
but  the  first  difficult  steps  in  the 
direction  of  prosperity  had  been  taken, 
and  for  the  moment  she  allowed  herself 
to  rest  and  be  ^nankful  and  glad,  seeing 
the  goal  of  her  desire  less  distant, 
perhaps,  than  it  really  was.  Hope 
carries  a  rare  pair  of  field-glasses,  and 
an  occasional  scrap  of  success  is  suffi- 
cient to  keep  them  clean  and  bright. 

Mrs.  Wallace  entered  the  room,  bear- 
ing two  plates  of  scones,  and  paused, 
surveying  her  niece's  handiwork. 

"Mphm!"  she  said  at  last.  "That  '11 
dae.  But  did  I  no'  tell  ye  Maister 
Ogilvy  wis  comin'  to  his  tea?" 

"Mr.  Ogilvy?"     Jess  shook  her  head. 

"Ay;  Maister  Ogilvy,  the  grocer,  ye 
ken." 

Mrs.  Houston  tried  not  to  look  sur- 
prised or  amused.  "Oh  yes,"  she  said, 
and  retired  to  the  cupboard. 

Her  aunt's  voice  followed  her.  "Is 
there  onythin'  wrang  in  Maister  Ogilvy 
comin'  to  his  tea  ?  Or  is  there  onythin' 
peculiar?" 

"Of  course  not,  Aunt  Wallace,"  re- 
plied Jess  from  behind  the  door. 

"Weel,  dinna  rattle  ma  guid  dishes  as 
77 


Jess    &    Co. 

if  ye  had  the  palsy.  Ha'e  ye  no'  got  a' 
the  dishes  ye  need  yet?" 

' '  Yes ;  here  they  are. ' '  And  Jess  came 
forth,  her  countenance  abnormally  grave 
but  rather  flushed. 

"Whit  ails  ye,  Jess?" 

' '  Nothing — nothing. ' ' 

"Ye're  maybe  a  wee  thing  surprised 
at  Maister  Ogilvy  comin'  to  his  tea?" 

"Well,  you  see,  I  didn't  know  he  was 
such  a  friend  of  yours,  aunt." 

"I  didna  say  he  wis.  But  I'm  kin' 
o'  vexed  fur  the  man,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace, 
half  gently,  half  contemptuously.  "  He's 
aye  complainin'  aboot  bad  trade,  an' 
that's  a  thing  I  canna  thole  in  a  man. 
An'  yet  he's  no'  a  hard  man.  I  wis 
passin'  his  shope  the  ither  day,  when  a 
wean  fell  aff  his  doorstep  wi'  hauf  a 
dizzen  eggs  she  had  jist  bocht  frae  him, 
an'  he  wis  oot  efter  her  afore  ye  cud  say 
'Jack  Robison,'  an'  tuk  her  back  to  the 
shope,  an'  efter  he  had  wiped  awa'  the 
maist  o'  the  mess  he  gi'ed  her  anither 
hauf  a  dizzen  eggs,  an'  a  wheen  sweeties 
furbye,  an'  tell't  her  no'  to  let  on  to 
her  mither  that  she  had  tummilt." 

"That  was  good  of  him!"  exclaimed 
Jess,  with  enthusiasm. 

"Oh,  he  whiles  dis  things  like  that  to 
weans,  but  he's  a  kin'  o'  greetin'  buddy 
78 


Jess    &    Co. 

as  a  rule.  An'  I'm  shair  he  needna  be 
that,  fur  he's  naebody  to  keep  but  hissel', 
an'  his  business  is  no'  near  as  bad  as  he 
mak's  it  oot  to  be." 

' '  Has  he  never  thought  of  getting 
married?"  asked  Jess,  seriously.  "He 
can't  be  so  very  old." 

"Auld?  He's  no' old  ava'!  He's  no' 
muckle  aulder  nor  masel'.  But  I  doot 
he'll  never  get  a  wife,  even  if  he  ever 
wants  yin." 

' '  And  what  made  you  ask  him  to  tea  ?" 
her  niece  inquired,  boldly. 

If  the  query  contained  any  insinua- 
tion Mrs.  Wallace  failed  to  perceive  it. 
"Weel,  as  I  tell't  ye  afore,  I'm  kin'  o' 
vexed  fur  him,  an'  when  I  wis  in  his 
shope  the  day  I  wis  mair  vexed  nor 
or'nar'.  Ye  see,  he  bides  at  the  back  o' 
the  shope,  an'  when  I  gaed  in  the  day 
he  cam'  furrit,  unco  rid  i'  the  face  an' 
confused-like.  An',  afore  he  had  hauf 
served  me,  an'  awfu'  reek  an'  smell 
begood  to  come  frae  the  back  room. 
'  Mercy  me !  Whit  in  creation's  that  ?'  I 
cries.  •  'Aw,  never  heed  it,  Mistress 
Wallace,'  he  says,  tryin'  to  lauch. 
'Never  heed  it?'  says  I.  'Man,  I'm 
near  stuffocatit!'  '  I'm  rale  sorry.  But 
I  can  assure  ye  there's  naethin'  wrang — 
at  least,  no'  seriously  wrang,'  he  says,  as 
79 


Jess    &    Co. 

if  he  wis  ashamed.  '  But  there's  some- 
thin'  burnin','  says  I.  But  he  jist  shook 
his  heid.  'Are  ye  daft?'  I  cries.  'Awa' 
an'  pit  it  oot.'  But  he  gi'ed  anither 
puir  lauch  an'  says,  says  he,  'Dinna  get 
alarmed,  Mistress  Wallace.  It's  jist 
some  soup  I  wis  tryin'  to  mak'  fur  ma 
dinner.'  'Soup!'  says  I.  'Soup!  It 
smells  liker  singein'  hair  an'  caunnle 
ends.'  "Deed,  ay!  An'  I  doot  it  '11 
taste  the  same,'  he  says,  wi'  a  groan. 
'I'm  jist  seeck  o'  life,  Mistress  Wallace!' 
An'  then  it  cam'  oot  that  auld  Mistress 
Neil  that's  cleaned  his  bit  room  an' 
cookit  his  meals  fur  twinty  an'  mair 
years  wis  lyin'  badly,  cryin'  oot  that  she 
wud  dee  if  onybody  else  got  her  place, 
an'  so  Maister  Ogilvy  wis  tryin'  to  dae 
her  wark  hissel'." 

"Poor  man!"  said  Jess. 

"Mistress  Neil's  been  badly  fur  a 
week,  an'  he  tell't  me  he  wis  that  tired 
o'  eatin'  cauld  things  oot  o'  tins  this 
cauld  weather,  an'  he  thocht  he  wud 
mak'  hissel'  a  bowl  o'  soup  the  day ;  but 
everythin'  gaed  wrang,  an' — weel,'  Jess, 
that's  the  reason  I  askit  him  to  his  tea. 
An'  Da  vie  an'  him  '11  be  here  afore  we're 
ready  fur  them  if  we're  no'  smairt. 
Come  awa'  to  the  kitchen  till  I  learn 
ye  to  fry  ham  an'  eggs  fit  fur  angels." 
80 


Jess    &    Co. 

The  two  men  arrived  together,  having 
met  on  the  road,  and  Jess  was  despatch- 
ed from  the  kitchen  to  admit  them,  bear- 
ing instructions  regarding  the  wiping  of 
boots  on  the  outer  door-mat. 

"You  gang  in  first,"  whispered  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  bashfully,  as  the  door  opened. 

"Na,  na.  You're  the  stranger,"  re- 
turned David,  with  a  courteous  shove. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Ogilvy  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Houston,  in  her  friendliest  fashion. 
"Davie,  be  sure  and  clean  your  boots," 
she  added  quickly  to  her  husband. 

"I'm  weel,  thenk  ye,"  replied  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  taking  a  share  of  the  door-mat. 
"Are  ye  keepin'  pretty  middlin'  yer- 
sel'?" 

"Yes,  thank  you.  Now,  come  away 
in  out  of  the  cold." 

They  entered  the  bright  lobby,  dis- 
posed of  their  coats  and  caps,  and  fol- 
lowed her  into  the  parlor,  the  joiner 
pushing  the  grocer  before  him. 

"Come  over  to  the  fire,  Mr.  Ogilvy," 
said  Jess,  hospitably.  "  Won't  you  have 
the  easy-chair?" 

"Aw,  thenk  ye.  Ony  chair  '11  dae — 
jist  ony  chair,"  returned  Mr.  Ogilvy, 
wiping  his  brow  with  an  enormous  hand- 
kerchief and  rubbing  his  hands  in  a 
nervous  way. 

81 


Jess    &    Co. 

"  Gang  furrit,  man,  an'  tak'  the  chair," 
cried  David,  genially.  He  had  known 
Ogilvy  all  his  life,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  keep  up  any  formality.  Jess,  how- 
ever, had  only  met  him  in  the  way  of 
business,  and  she  would  probably  have 
felt  shyer  and  tried  less  to  make  him 
feel  at  home  had  it  not  been  for  her 
aunt's  recent  remarks.  So,  having  in- 
formed him  that  her  aunt  would  appear 
presently,  she  did  her  utmost  to  put  him 
at  his  ease,  though,  judging  from  the 
manner  in  which  he  continued  to  sit  on 
the  extreme  edge  of  the  easy-chair  and 
repeatedly  applied  his  handkerchief  to 
his  forehead,  she  could  hardly  be  said 
to  have  succeeded  brilliantly. 

Her  husband  came  to  the  rescue  at  last 
with  the  not  very  original  inquiry: 

"An'  hoo's  trade  wi'  ye?" 

"  Trade  ?  Deplorable  —  jist  deplor- 
able! Never  seen  onythin'  like  it,"  said 
the  grocer,  shaking  his  head  gloomily, 
but  seating  himself  a  little  more  com- 
fortably in  his  chair.  "Ye  read  a  heap 
o'  stories  i'  the  papers  aboot  the  de- 
pression o'  trade,  but  if  thae  writin' 
chaps  wants  to  ken  what  depression 
really  is,  they  sud  try  a  proveesion  shop 
in  Kinlochan.  Depression  isna  the  word 
for  it!" 

82 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Och,  it's  no'  as  bad  as  a'  that,"  ob- 
served the  joiner,  with  a  laugh. 

"Ah,  David,  ye're  weel  aff  at  the 
jinerin',"  returned  Mr.  Ogilvy,  sadly. 
"Ye're  aye  busy.  But  luk  at  me!  I 
sit — onywey,  I  staun' — at  the  receipt  o' 
custom,  as  it  were,  fur  'oors  thegither, 
an'  whiles  I  never  turn  a  copper.  The 
ither  day — Tuesday,  I  think  it  was — 
there  was  naebody  cam'  ower  ma  door- 
step frae  twal'  o'clock  noon  till  three 
p.m.  but  twa  weans.  Yin  was  a  laddie 
speirin'  for  a  bit  string;  the  ither  was  a 
lassie  wantin'  change  for  a  penny. 
D'ye  ca'  that  trade?" 

"But  it's  not  always  so  bad,  Mr. 
Ogilvy,"  put  in  Mrs.  Houston. 

"Maybe  no'  jist  as  bad,"  he  allowed, 
grudgingly.  "But  trade's  no'  what  it 
used  to  be.  Folk  never  used  to  get  a' 
their  proveesions  frae  the  toon;  an' 
there  was  nae  cairts  and  vans  comin' 
ten  mile  to  poach  on  ma  preserves,  as  it 
were.  But  noo — oh,  it's  jist  deplorable, 
jist  deplorable!  Ay- 
He  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Mrs.  Wallace  with  a  huge  dish  of  ham 
and  eggs,  which  she  deposited  on  the 
table  before  taking  any  notice  of  her 
guests.  "Jess,"  she  whispered  to  her 
niece,  "awa'  an'  bring  ben  the  tea  an' 
83 


Jess    &    Co. 

toast.  .  .  .  Weel,  Davie,  hoo's  things? 
Gled  to  hear  ye're  busy.  .  .  .  Weel, 
Maister  Ogilvy,  I  suppose  trade's  waur 
nor  ever.  But  I  dinna  think  ye  sud 
mak'  sic  a  lamentation  aboot  it  in  the 
hoose  o'  yer  best  customer.  Eh?  Ha! 
ha!  ha!"" 

"Aw,  Mistress  Wallace!"  murmured 
the  grocer,  with  a  feeble  smile  of  apolo- 
gy, "nae  offence,  I  hope." 

"Haud  yer  tongue,  man,  an'  draw  in 
yer  chair.  Come  awa',  Jess,  my  lass. 
Davie,  tak'  the  heid  o'  the  table  an'  ask 
a  blessin'.  .  .  .  Noo,  help  the  ham  an' 
eggs.  If  they're  no'  guid,  ye  can  blame 
it  on  Maister  Ogilvy." 

"Ye  wud  aye  ha'e  yer  bit  joke,  Mis- 
tress Wallace,"  said  the  guest,  beginning 
to  brighten  under  the  cheerful  influences 
about  him. 

"Sugar  an'  cream?" 

"Thenk  ye,  thenk  ye.  As  I  was  ob- 
servin' — " 

"Ha'e!"  interrupted  Houston,  hand- 
ing him  a  plate  piled  with  ham  and  a 
couple  of  eggs. 

"  Aw,  jist  the  hauf  o'  that,  please — jist 
the  hauf  o'  that,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy,  mod- 
estly. 

"Come  awa',  man!"  urged  Houston. 

"Ay,  come  awa',  Maister  Ogilvy. 
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Jess    &    Co. 

Hoo  can  ye  expec'  trade  to  be  flourishin' 
when  ye  winna  eat  yer  ain  proveesions  ?" 
added  the  hostess,  with  a  chuckle. 

David  laughed  also  as  he  selected 
some  titbits  for  his  wife.  '  'Deed,  Ogil- 
vy,  ye've  got  to  dae  as  ye're  bid  in  this 
hoose." 

"Ay,  an'  naebody  kens  that  better  nor 
Davie,"  remarked  Mrs.  Wallace,  smartly. 

Whereupon  every  one  laughed  heart- 
ily, including  Mrs.  Houston,  who,  how- 
ever, first  glanced  at  her  husband  to 
make  sure  that  his  feelings  had  not  been 
hurt. 

The  meal  proceeded,  and  altogether 
it  was  a  very  pleasant  one.  Mr.  Ogilvy, 
who  had  been  famishing,  finished  his 
ham  and  eggs  and,  after  a  deal  of  press- 
ing, consented  to  take  a  second  help- 
ing. 

"  Jist  a  wee  tate,"  he  said,  diffidently. 
"Jist  a  sma'  sensation.  It's  rale  nice 
ham,"  he  remarked  to  Mrs.  Wallace. 
Then,  noticing  a  twinkle  in  her  eye,  "I 
mean  it's  rale  nicely  cookit.  In  fac',  I 
micht  say,  I  never  tastit  ham  near  as 
nicely  cookit,  Mistress  Wallace." 

At  this  point  David  winked  guarded- 
ly at  his  wife,  who  attempted  to  look 
severe,  but  smiled  faintly. 

"  As  fur  yer  scones,"  said  the  grocer,  a 
85 


Jess    &    Co. 

little  later,  "I'm  no'  exaggeratin'  when 
I  tell  ye  they're  the  finest  I  ever  en- 
countered in  a'  ma  born  days!" 

Such  enthusiastic  language  from  the 
mouth  of  Mr.  Ogilvy  was  so  unprece- 
dented that  a  solemn  pause  ensued  for 
several  seconds. 

"I'm  shair  I'm  gled  ye  like  the 
scones,"  returned  Mrs.  Wallace,  recov- 
ering herself  and  breaking  the  silence, 
which  would  otherwise  have  been  broken 
by  a  snigger  from  David.  "Is  Mistress 
Neil  no'  a  guid  haun'  at  the  bakin'  ?" 

"Until  the  nicht  I  thocht  she  was," 
came  the  gallant  reply,  whereat  Hous- 
ton gave  his  wife  the  gentlest  of  gentle 
kicks  under  the  table. 

"I  doot  ye're  an  unco  blether,  Mais- 
ter  Ogilvy,"  said  the  hostess,  with  a 
dry  smile. 

Mr.  Ogilvy  was  suddenly  abashed, 
realizing  that  he  had  allowed  the  un- 
accustomed comfort  and  cheer  to  carry 
him  away. 

Jess  came  to  the  rescue.  "  Have  you 
heard  how  poor  Mrs.  Neil  is  to-night?" 
she  inquired. 

"Weel,  Mistress  Houston,  I  seen  the 

doctor  jist  afore  I  left  the  shop,  an'  he 

said  she  was  a  lump  better,  an'  wud 

maybe  be  back  at  her  wark  on  Monday. 

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Jess    &    Co. 

But  she's  gettin'  auld,  ye  ken,  an'  I 
doot  she's  no'  lang  for  this  life,  puir 
buddy!" 

"Wud  ye  no'  be  better  to  get  some 
ither  yin  in  her  place?"  asked  David. 

"No'  as  lang's  she's  leevin'.  She 
cudna  thole  it.  An'  I  dinna  ken  ony- 
body  in  Kinlochan  that  wud  be  carin' 
aboot  the  job." 

"Of  course,  there's  tiva  weys  o'  gettin' 
a  hoosekeeper,"  said  David,  teasingly. 

For  an  instant  the  grocer  looked  puz- 
zled ;  then  he  took  a  long  drink  from  his 
empty  cup,  and  tried  to  look  as  if  he 
had  not  heard  the  remark  at  all. 

"Are  ye  a'  satisfied?"  The  hostess 
glanced  round  the  table  and  rose. 
"Jess,"  she  said,  briskly,  "you  an' 
me  '11  clear  the  dishes,  an'  Maister  Ogilvy 
an'  Davie  can  ha'e  a  smoke." 

"Och,  we'll  jist  wait  an'  ha'e  a  smoke 
in  the  kitchen  efter  ye 're  through  wi' 
the  dishes,"  said  David,  who  had  never 
yet  lit  his  pipe  in  Mrs.  Wallace's  parlor. 

"I'm  tellin'  ye,  ye  can  smoke  here," 
she  assured  him.  "Yer  pipes  '11  be 
naethin'  to  the  ceegaurs  o'  ma  ludgers 
in  the  simmer.  Ye  can  smell  the  cee- 
gaurs yet.  I  doot  they  wis  chape  yins. 
So  ye  can  smoke  yersel's  black  i'  the 
face,  an'  maybe  the  new  smell  '11  help  to 
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Jess    &    Co. 

kill  the  auld  yin.  Draw  yer  chairs  in 
to  the  fire." 

Aunt  and  niece  speedily  cleared  the 
table  and  retired  to  the  kitchen  to  wash 
up,  for  the  former  had  a  theory  that  the 
longer  a  dish  was  left  soiled  the  more 
difficult  it  was  to  cleanse. 

The  two  men  drew  their  chairs  tow- 
ards the  hearth,  filled  and  lit  their  pipes, 
and  for  fully  ten  minutes  puffed  in  sol- 
emn silence. 

"  It's  a  bonny  paurlor  this,"  Mr.  Ogilvy 
ventured,  after  he  had  taken  in  every 
detail  of  the  room,  which  was  a  model 
of  orderliness  and  cleanliness,  yet  some- 
what solidly  furnished  and  primly  ar- 
ranged. 

"It's  a'  that,"  returned  David,  agree- 
ably. "But  when  I  come  in  I'm  aye 
feart  at  first  that  I  dae  the  wrang  thing. 
I  yinst  knockit  ower  a  vaze,  an'  though 
it's  twa  year  syne,  I  can  hear  the  smash 
it  made  on  the  fender  yet.  It's  no'  a 
nice  thing  to  knock  ower  a  vaze  belong- 
in'  to  the  aunt  wha's  niece  ye're  coort- 
in'." 

"I  daursay  that's  true.  It  pits  ye  in 
what  ye  micht  ca'  an  awkward  poseetion. 
At  least,  I  sud  presoome  that  the  po- 
seetion wudna  be  a'thegither  pleesant, 
though  it's  no'  for  me  to  say,  seein'  I'm 
88 


Jess    &    Co. 

no'  vera  fameeliar  wi'  the  paurlors  o' 
weemen  folk." 

"Ah,  but  it  wis  gey  awkward,  I  tell 
ye.  But  I  may  say  that  Mistress  Wal- 
lace never  referred  to  the  vaze  efter  that 
nicht,  no'  but  what  she  referred  kin'  o' 
freely  to  it  at  the  time.  If  it  hadna 
been  for  Jess  I  wud  ha'e  said  there  was 
mair  talk  nor  a  dizzen  vazes  was 
worth." 

"Ye — ye 're  weel  aff  wi'  yer  wife, 
David,"  observed  the  grocer,  staring  at 
the  fire. 

"Ay,"  said  David,  briefly,  but  not 
coldly. 

"Ye'll  be  gey  cheery  alang  at  Hazel 
Cottage  thae  fang  nichts,"  continued 
the  older  man.  "It's  a — a  rale  fine 
thing  to  ha'e  a — agreeable  comp'ny,  as  it 
were.  Eh?" 

"Ay,"  said  David,  softly,  pushing 
down  the  threads  of  glowing  tobacco 
with  a  hardened  forefinger. 

"An" — an'  yer  wife's  gey  weel  aff  wi' 
her  aunt,"  said  the  other,  after  some 
hesitation. 

"Ay,  Mistress  Wallace  is  jist  a  fine 
auld  wumman,"  said  the  joiner,  heartily. 

"She's  no'  that  auld." 

"I  didna  mean  that  exac'ly.  But,  of 
course,  she's  a  guid  bit  aulder  nor  Jess 
89 


Jess    &    Co. 

an'  me.  I  wudna  say  but  what  she's  jist 
at  her  best." 

"In  her  prime,  as  it  were." 

"Jist  that." 

"Weel,  I'm  shair  there's  naebody  I 
like  better  to  see  coming  ower  ma  door- 
step," said  Mr.  Ogilvy,  warmly,  "even 
if  it's  for  nae  mair  nor  a  penny's 
worth." 

"Ye've  kent  her  longer  nor  me." 

"Och,  ay!  she's  been  a  reg'lar  cus- 
tomer o'  mines  since  she  cam'  to  Kin- 
lochan,  and  I'm  prood  to  say  I've  never 
had  a  complaint  frae  her,  except  yinst, 
an'  that  was  when  I  sent  her  dog  bis- 
cuits in  mistake  for  abernethies;  an'  it 
was  the  laddie  in  the  shop  that  done  it, 
because  she  had  cuffed  him  for  roarin' 
'Scots  wha  ha'e!'  at  her  door  instead  o' 
ringin'  the  bell  like  an  or'nar'  Christian. 
But  that  was  the  only  complaint  I  ever 
had,  David. ' '  And  the  grocer  proceeded 
to  relight  his  pipe. 

"That's  vera  satisfactory,  I'm  shair," 
said  David. 

"I  think  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy,  puff- 
ing with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  quite 
pleased  with  himself.  "I  was  rale 
prood  to  be  invited  to  ma  tea  the  nicht. 
Nae  doot  I  lost  a  bit  custom  shuttin' 
up  ma  shop  earlier  nor  usual;  but  what's 
90 


Jess    &    Co. 

a  shillin'  or  twa  when  ye're  enj'yin' 
yersel'  ?" 

"Mphm,"  murmured  the  younger 
man,  checking  a  laugh. 

After  a  considerable  pause  the  grocer 
resumed  the  conversation. 

"I  was  gaun  to  gi'e  ye  a  hint,  David, 
aboot  a  job  that  '11  likely  be  stairtit 
efter  the  New  Year.  Are  ye  near  feen- 
ished  up  at  Arden  ?" 

"It  '11  be  twa-three  weeks  yet  afore 
I'm  through.  It's  been  a  big  job." 

"The  bigger  the  better!  Weel,  the 
job  I  was  gaun  to  tell  ye  aboot  is  a  boat- 
hoose  that  Mr.  Colman  wants  built — 
nane  o'  yer  wee  boat-hooses,  but  a  big 
yin  to  haud  three  or  fewer  boats,  an' 
it's  to  be  done  up  in  the  best  style."  ' 

"Hoo  dae  ye  get  to  hear  o'  things?" 
exclaimed  David,  sitting  up  in  his  chair. 

"Aw,  never  you  mind  aboot  that! 
But  if  ye  want  the  job,  tak'  ma  advice 
an'  gang  to  Mistress  Colman  first.  She's 
the  manager  o'  the  establishment.  But 
she's  a  kind  leddy,  an' — an'  ye  can  men- 
tion that  I  sent  ye,  if  ye  like." 

"Ach,  I  see  it  noo!"  cried  Houston. 
"It  was  her  wee  lassie  that  ye  pickit 
oot  frae  among  the  horses'  feet  at — " 

"Whisht,  man,  whisht!  That's  nae- 
thin'  to  dae  wi'  't,"  cried  Mr.  Ogilvy, 


Jess    &    Co. 

confused.     "  Jist  you  tak'  ma  hint,  and 
dinna  tell  onybody." 

"  'Deed,  I'm  greatly  obleeged  to  ye, 
but—" 

Just  then  the  aunt  and  niece  entered 
the  parlor,  and  the  conversation  became 
general.  The  grocer  expanded  won- 
derfully, and  it  was  soon  discovered  that 
he  was  the  possessor  of  a  stock  of  old  and 
chiefly  weird  local  legends  with  which 
he  regaled  the  company  until  Mrs.  Wal- 
lace started  up  and  informed  her  vis- 
itors that  they  could  not  remain  in  her 
house  another  minute.  Without  feeling 
in  the  least  offended,  but  in  the  best  of 
spirits,  they  shortly  took  their  depart- 
ure, David  carrying  a  lantern,  for  the 
night  was  dark. 

"Davie,"  whispered  Jess,  as  they 
went  through  the  garden-gate,  "tell 
Mr.  Ogilvy  you  want  him  to  come  to  tea 
to-morrow  night." 

"  'Deed,  ay,  lass.  That  was  weel 
thocht  o'!"  he  returned,  and  passed  the 
invitation  on  to  the  grocer. 

"Thenk  ye,  thenk  ye,"  said  Mr.  Ogil- 
vy, coughing  loudly.  "I'll  be  jist  dee- 
lighted.  Thenk  ye,  thenk  ye!" 

When  they  had  parted  with  him, 
opposite  his  shop,  David  began  to  laugh 
softly. 

92 


Jess    &    Co. 

"What  is  it?"  Jess  asked. 

"Ogilvy's  efter  yer  aunt  Wallace." 

"Oh,  Davie!     I — I  believe  he  is." 

"Has  he  ony  chance,  think  ye,  Jess?" 

"I'm  afraid  not.  Poor  Mr.  Ogilvy! 
Aunt  won't  marry  again." 

"A  wumman's  got  to  be  askit  first, 
onywey.  But  I  wud  like  to  see  him 
weel  lukit  efter,  for  he's  a  dacent  man 
and  a  guid  freen'  to  you  an'  me,  lass." 
And  David  told  his  wife  of  the  new  work 
in  prospect. 

"That's  fine!"  she  cried,  softly.  "Oh, 
Davie,  it  was  such  a  relief  to  get  that 
awful  bill  off  our  minds  to-day !  Wasn't 
it?" 

'  'Deed,  ay,"  he  assented,  lightly. 

"  But  there's  a  lot  to  be  done  yet,"  she 
said,  seriously,  after  a  moment.  "I 
mean,  we  must  keep  it  up,  mustn't  we  ?" 
she  added,  hastily,  lest  he  should  sus- 
pect more  than  she  wanted  him  to 
know. 

"Jist  that,"  he  said,  gayly.  "Dinna 
fash  yersel',  dearie.  We're  daein'  fine. 
I  only  wish  Dobbie  wud  send  that  gless 
I  ordered  the  ither  day." 

"Has  it  not  come?"  she  asked,  in 
sudden  alarm. 

"Oh,  it  '11  likely  be  here  the  morn. 
But  I  was  thinkin'  o'  takin'  the  day  to 
93 


Jess    &    Co. 

gang  an'  see  the  duke's  chrysanthe- 
mums, an'  I  thocht  ye  micht  like  to 
come  wi'  me." 

"That  would  be  grand,  but — but — 

"But  what?" 

"Shouldn't  you  be  at  Arden  to- 
morrow?" 

"I'm  waitin'  on  the  gless." 

"But  there's  a  lot  of  odd  jobs  wait- 
ing." 

"Weel,  dearie,  if  I  dinna  gang  to  see 
the  duke's  chrysanthemums  the  morn, 
I'll  maybe  no'  manage  anither  day. 
An'  it's  time  ye  had  a  day  aff,  Jess." 

She  spoke  little  more  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  walk,  but  her  husband 
chatted  cheerfully.  An  ugly  presenti- 
ment assailed  her,  and  she  could  not  get 
quit  of  it.  She  was  convinced  that  she 
— she  did  not  intend  that  David  should 
see  it  first — would  find  a  letter  in  a  busi- 
ness envelope  under  the  door  of  the 
cottage,  deposited  there  by  old  Angus, 
who  usually  waited  in  the  shop  for  the 
evening  post. 

David,  whistling  merrily,  turned  his 
key  in  the  door  of  Hazel  Cottage. 

"Did  you  shut  the  gate  properly, 
Davie?"  she  said,  trembling. 

"Ay.  But  I'll  gang  back  an'  see," 
94 


Jess    &    Co. 

he  returned,  obligingly,  and  ran  down 
the  path,  swinging  the  lantern. 

Jess  pushed  the  door  partly  open,  bent 
down,  and  felt  over  the  triangle  of  floor- 
ing. 

Her  fingers  closed  on  a  letter.  "Oh, 
Davie!"  she  sighed,  and  crushed  it  with- 
in her  blouse. 

"Jess,  lass,  ye're  lukin'  wearit,"  he 
said,  tenderly,  a  little  later. 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  she  replied,  try- 
ing to  smile. 

"Ye'll  be  the  better  o'  a  day  aff  the 
morn.  An'  I  ken  ye'll  enjye  seein'  the 
duke's  chrysanthemums.  My!  if  I  had 
jist  the  time  and  money,  Jess!" 

"Keep  hoping,  Davie,"  she  said,  very 
gently.  "But  I— I  don't  think  I'll 
come  with  you  to-morrow.  I  think  I'll 
go  to  the  town  instead.  You  see,  it's  a 
long  time  since — " 

Her  husband  looked  so  disappointed 
that  her  will  nearly  gave  way.  "I 
wantit  ye  wi'  me,"  he  said,  slowly. 
"  But  I  daursay  ye're  needin'  things  frae 
the  toon,  an',  as  ye  say,  it's  a  guid  while 
since  ye  was  there.  I  suppose  ye'll  be 
hame  in  time  for  Ogilvy?" 

"  Oh  yes.  You're  not  vexed,  are  you, 
Davie?" 

95 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Na,  na,  ma  dear.  I  believe  ye  wud 
come  wi'  me  if  ye  hadna  somethin'  im- 
portant to  dae  in  the  toon.  Eh,  Jess?" 

"That's  just  it.  And  maybe  you'll 
ask  me  another  time." 

"That  I  mill,  lass!" 

"And  you'll  bring  home  some  flowers 
if  you  can.  I  like  to  see  our  own  ones 
growing."  Then  she  added,  very  cas- 
ually: "I  might  as  well  look  in  at  Dob- 
bie's  and  tell  them  to  send  the  glass  on 
at  once." 

"Ay;  jist  dae  that,  Jess."  And,  with 
a  laugh,  he  added:  "Ye  can  tell  them 
ye're  ma  pairtner!" 


The  Gentleman  from  Glasgow 

"AN'  a  botle  o'  furniture  polish,"  con- 
/».  tinued  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"A  botle  o'  furniture  polish,"  repeated 
the  grocer,  moistening  the  point  of  a 
stumpy  pencil  and  applying  it  to  the 
dog-eared  page  of  a  dilapidated  order- 
book. 

"Ay.  An'  see  an'  no'  send  a  botle 
o'  Complexion  Cream,  the  wey  ye  done 
the  last  time." 

"Complexion  Cream?" 

"Jist  that!  That  wis  whit  ye  sent 
the  last  time — it's  a  while  syne — I  order- 
ed furniture  polish.  I  presoome  it  wisna 
your  fau't,  Maister  Ogilvy,  fur  I  per- 
ceived an  evil  smile,  as  the  stories  say, 
on  the  face  o'  the  laddie  that  brocht  the 
messages.  But  it  wisna  an  evil  smile, 
nor  ony  ither  kin'  o'  smile,  when  I  got 
the  haud  o'  him  the  next  mornin'.  Na!" 

"Oh,  Mistress  Wallace, "exclaimed Mr. 
Ogilvy,  in  unaffected  distress,  "I'm 
97 


Jess    &    Co. 

vexed  ye  was  insultit  by  thon  laddie. 
He  was  jist  a  wee  deevil!  An"  I'm 
gled  I  sent  him  awa'.  'Deed,  I  wish  I 
had  sent  him  awa'  shinner.  In  fac', 
I  wish  I  had  never  seen  his  impiddent 
face!  I  was  near  dementit  wi'  his 
pranks  an'  tricks.  He  thocht  naethin' 
o'  pittin'  saut  in  sift  it  sugar,  an'  yin 
time  he  mixed  up  pepper  in  puir  auld 
Maister  Bowie's  snuff  an'  near  kilt  the 
puir  buddy  wi'  sneezin'  an'  greetin'. 
An'  at  the  New  Year,  what  dae  ye  think 
he  done  to  Mistress  Mason's  paircel — 
the  biggest  order  I've  had  for  mony  a 
lang  day — what  dae  ye  think  he  done  ?" 

"  I  cudna  say." 

"  Aweel,  I  sud  explain  that  the  paircel 
contained,  as  it  were,  a  heap  o'  luxuries; 
in  fac',  it  was  maistly  composed  o' 
luxuries  —  a'  sorts  o'  guid  things  an' 
sweet  things,  ye  ken." 

"Mphm." 

"I'm  tellin'  ye  aboot  the  luxuries  so 
as  ye  may  perceive  the  full  meanin'  o' 
the  wee  deevil's  prank." 

"I  see." 

"Weel,  the  paircel  was  sent  awa',  an' 
the  day  efter  Mistress  Mason's  servant 
lass  cam'  in  to  the  shop  an'  said  I  cud 
get  the  paircel  back  as  shin  as  I  liket  to 
send  for  it.  An'  she  said,  forbye,  that 
98 


Jess    &    Co. 

I  needna  tell  the  laddie  to  ca'  for  further 
orders.  An'  wi'  that  she  walkit  oot  the 
shop,  leavin'  me  completely  dum- 
foonert.  But  there  was  naethin'  for  it 
but  to  get  back  the  paircel  an'  solve  the 
mystery,  as  it  were." 

"An'  whit  wis  the  mystery,  as  it 
wis?"  inquired  Mrs.  Wallace,  a  little 
impatiently. 

"The  mystery,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy, 
solemnly,  "was  a  lairge-size  botle  o' 
castor-ile  wi'  'A  Happy  New  Year' 
written  on  it.  An'  Mistress  Mason 
hadna  ordered  the  ile." 

Mrs.  Wallace  chuckled.  "I  furgi'e 
the  laddie — I  furgi'e  the  laddie!"  she 
cried. 

"7  didna  dae  that,  Mistress  Wallace," 
said  the  grocer,  shortly.  "But  I  gi'ed 
him  a  week's  notice." 

"It  wis  a  peety  to  loss  sic  a  smairt 
laddie,"  she  remarked,  still  chuckling. 

"He  was  ower  smairt  for  me!  He 
was  that,  I  tell  ye!  An'  I  tell't  him  he 
was  ower  smairt  for  runnin'  ma  mes- 
sages— I  tell't  him  that  when  I  peyed  him 
his  wages  for  the  last  time.  But  he  jist 
made  a  face  at  me  an'  gaed  awa' 
lauchin'  like  to  hurt  hissel'.  It  was  the 
Setturday  nicht,  an'  when  I  had  seen 
him  aff  the  premises  I  cam'  back  here, 
99 


Jess    &    Co. 

whaur  I'm  the  noo,  for  to  male'  up  ma 
books.  An'  I  made  to  sit  doon  on  ma 
stool — the  stool  ye  see  there,  Mistress 
Wallace  —  but  the  stool  gaed  birlin' 
awa'  an'  I  cam'  doon  wi'  an'  awfu' 
crash  on  the  flure.  ...  I  was  thenkfu' 
there  was  nae  customers  in  the  shop. 
An'  when  I  cam'  to  ma  senses,  I  dis- 
covered three  nutmegs  o'  the  vera  best 
quality  that  the  wee  deevil  had  pitten 
unner  the  legs  o'  ma  stool — which  ac- 
coontit  for  the  accident,  as  it  were. 
So,  ye  see — " 

"An'  ye  can  send  hauf-a-pun'  o'  yer 
best  ham,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"Hauf-a-pun'  o'  the  best  ham,"  re- 
peated Mr.  Ogilvy.  "But  what  wey," 
he  suddenly  asked,  "did  ye  no'  return 
the  Complexion  Cream,  Mistress  Wal- 
lace?" 

"Weel,  to  tell  ye  the  truth,  I  tried  it 
on  ma  mahogany  chiffoneer,  an'  the 
result  wis  first-rate ;  only  the  cream  wis 
ower  dear  fur  frequent  application,  as  it 
said  on  the  labbel.  Ha'e  ye  got  doon 
the  ham?" 

"The  ham  is  duly  registered,  Mistress 
Wallace.  But  I'm  vexed  aboot  the — " 

"An'  ye  micht  send  three  o'  yer  best 
fresh  eggs — jist  three,  mind  ye." 

"Three  best  fresh  eggs,"  echoed  Mr. 
100 


Jess    &    Co. 

Ogilvy,  after  remoistening  the  point  of 
his  pencil. 

"Ye  sent  fower  the  last  time,"  said 
Mistress  Wallace. 

"Did  I?"  said  the  grocer,  somewhat 
flustered. 

"Ay,  did  ye!  An'  I  didna  want 
fower." 

"It's  jist  three  in  the  book,  Mistress 
Wallace." 

"Weel,  the  shinner  ye  male'  it  fower 
the  better  fur  yer  profits." 

' '  Are  —  are  ye  shair  it  was  fower 
ye  got?" 

"  As  shair's  daith.  Man,  dae  ye  think 
I  wud  cheat  masel'  oot  the  price  o'  an 
egg — at  yin  an'  ten  the  dizzen?"  she 
demanded,  severely,  while  Mr.  Ogilvy 
perspired  with  his  mental  agony.  "I 
doot  the  laddie  ye've  got  noo  is  nae 
better  nor  the  yin  we  wis  speakin'  aboot, 
an'  he  hasna  hauf  the  fun  in  him.  He's 
jist  wastin'  yer  substance,  Maister  Ogil- 
vy, in  a  maist  unexcitin'  fashion,  an'— 

"Aw,  the  laddie's  honest,  I  can  tell 
ye.  Ay;  he's  honest." 

"Weel,  he's  no'  ready  to  quit  the 
schule  if  he  canna  tell  three  frae  fower. 
An  egg's  an  egg!" 

"Ye  never  said  a  truer  word,  Mistress 
Wallace,  but — " 

101 


Jess    &    Co. 

"An*  I'll  tak'  a  pun'  o'  bakin'-sody." 

"A  pun'  o'  bakin'-sody,"  he  repeated, 
aloud,  but  to  himself  he  groaned:  "Oh, 
me!  Can  I  no'  send  her  an  extra  egg 
noo  an'  then  wi'oot  her  detectin'  it?" 

Mrs.  Wallace  picked  up  her  umbrella 
and  prepared  to  depart. 

"  Wull  that  be  a'  the  day  ?"  the  grocer 
asked,  in  a  tone  which  suggested  regret 
at  her  going. 

"That's  the  lot.  An'  see  an'  tie  up 
the  three  eggs  yersel',  an'  no'  trust  to  yer 
laddie  till  he's  better  up  in  the  coontin'." 

"I'll  attend  to  that,"  returned  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  checking  a  sigh.  "Are  ye  for 
Mistress  Houston's  noo?"  he  inquired, 
adding:  "There  was  a  strange  young 
man  in  the  shop  jist  afore  ye  cam'  in, 
speirin'  the  road  to  Hazel  Cottage.  I 
had  it  on  ma  tongue  to  tell  ye,  but — ' 

"A  young  man?  Whit  like  a  young 
man  ?" 

"Aw,  a  weel-dressed,  genteel -lukin' 
young  man.  He  cam'  aff  the  twa- 
o'clock  boat.  He  was  that  polite,  I 
thocht  at  first  he  micht  be  in  the  jam 
and  jelly  line,  or  maybe  traivellin'  for 
yin  o'  thae  new  patent  infants' -foods, 
ye  ken.  Thae  infants '-foods  is  jist — 

"  Nae  doot!     But  whit  wis  he  wantin' 
at  Hazel  Cottage?" 
102 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I  cudna  say,  Mistress  Wallace.  I 
tell't  him  Davie  Houston — if  it  was  him 
he  was  wantin' — was  awa'  workin'  at 
Maister  Colman's  new  boat-house  an' 
wudna  likely  be  at  hame;  an',  if  he  had 
ony  business  wi'  Davie,  he  cud  leave  a 
message  at  the  shop  wi'  auld  Angus." 

"An"  whit  did  he  say?" 

"  He  jist  said  he  was  greatly  obleeged, 
an'  gaed  awa'." 

"I  wunner  whit  he  wis  wantin'," 
muttered  Mrs.  Wallace.  "There  wis  a 
young  man  cam'  aff  the  twa- o'clock 
boat  yin  day  last  week  an'  speirt  at  the 
pier  the  road  to  Hazel  Cottage,  but  he 
never  gaed  there." 

"That  was  queer,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy. 
"It  cudna  ha'e  been  the  same  young 
man,  for  he  wudna  ha'e  needit  to  speir 
twice.  But  dootless  some  of  the  mer- 
chants in  the  city  '11  ha'e  been  hearin' 
aboot  the  big  jobs  that  Davie's  gettin', 
an'  they'll  be  wantin'  to  share  in  his 
prosperity,  as  it — " 

"  That  '11  be  it.  The  wudd  merchants 
an'  ithers  '11  be  wantin'  to  dae  business 
wi'  him.  I  maun  say  that  mairrage 
has  been  the  makin'  o'  Davie  Houston 
— though  I  wudna  tell  Jess  that." 

"  She's  a  clever  lass,  yer  niece,  Mistress 
Wallace,"  remarked  the  grocer.  "I'm 
103 


Jess    &    Co. 

thinkin*  she  tak's  efter  her  aunt,"  he 
added,  with  an  effort  which  brought  the 
perspiration  to  his  brow. 

"Eh?"  she  demanded. 

"  It — it  was  jist  a  sma'  compliment,  as 
it  were,"  he  stammered. 

"Humph!  Compliment!  We'll  be 
hearin'  next  that  ye're  takin'  lessons  in 
dancin'  an'  deportment.  'Deed,  Maister 
Ogilvy,  ye  fairly  surprise  me  whiles!  Ye 
seem  to  be  renewin'  yer  youth  like  the 
eagle.  Ha-ha!" 

Poor  Mr.  Ogilvy  certainly  did  not 
look  much  like  an  eagle  as  he  mumbled 
sadly — "Oh,  Mistress  Wallace,  if  —  if 
ye  jist  kent  ma  feelin's — ma  inmost 
fee—" 

"Are  ye  no'  weel?"  she  exclaimed. 

The  grocer  gave  her  a  look  that  would 
have  melted  a  flint.  "  Pheesically  I  ha'e 
nae  infirmity,  but — " 

"I  near  furgot  to  order  a  bit  emery- 
paper." 

"Emery-paper?" 

"Ay,  emery-paper,  man!" 

"Of  coorse,  of  eoorse,"  said  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  recovering  himself.  "Emery- 
paper,"  and  he  moistened  his  pencil. 

"Weel,  I  maun  gang.  Guid-day  to 
ye,  Maister  Ogilvy.  Mind,  it's  three 
eggs  ye're  to  send."  She  left  the  shop, 
104 


Jess    &    Co. 

and  turned  in  the  direction  of  Hazel 
Cottage. 

For  a  minute  Mr.  Ogilvy  watched  her 
from  behind  a  pile  of  wooden  cheeses  in 
the  window.  Then  he  turned  away 
with  a  groan,  knocking  over  a  large  pot 
of  gooseberry -jam.  Surveying  the  mess 
at  his  feet,  he  sighed: 

"Samuel  Ogilvy,  ye're  jist  an  eediot! 
Ye've  nae  mair  sense  nor  that  puir 
jaur  o'  jam." 

When,  about  half -past  two,  the  bell 
rang,  Jess,  who  had  just  settled  down 
to  an  afternoon's  baking,  murmured  im- 
patiently. "  If  it's  that  Miss  Perk  again, 
I've  a  good  mind  not  to  let  her  in.  She's 
always  coming  when  I'm  busy.  If  I 
only  knew  it  was  her  I'd  let  her  ring. 
I'll  wait  a  minute,  anyway." 

She  waited  till  the  bell  rang  a  third 
time,  and  then,  without  removing  the 
flour  from  her  arms,  she  went  to  the 
door,  saying  to  herself,  "  She'll  surely  see 
I'm  busy." 

But  the  ringer  was  not  the  person  whose 
advent  Mrs.  Houston  dreaded.  On  the 
doorstep  stood  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty- 
two,  fashionably  dressed,  gloved,  and 
with  a  hot -house  flower  in  his  button- 
hole. 

105 


Jess    &    Co. 

"  Don't  you  remember  me  ?"  he  asked, 
smiling,  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

The  flush  on  her  face  deepened,  and 
for  a  moment  she  hesitated.  "Mr. 
Dobbie,"  she  said,  shyly. 

"Yes;  but  won't  you  shake  hands — 
er — Mrs.  Houston?" 

Jess  dusted  her  hand  on  her  white 
apron  and  gave  it  to  him,  though  not 
willingly.  In  spite  of  a  kindness  recent- 
ly received  from  this  man,  she  wished 
her  visitor  had,  after  all,  been  the 
troublesome  Miss  Perk. 

"You  have  a  pretty  place  here,"  he 
observed,  eying  her  averted  face  in  an 
amused  fashion.  "One  can  believe  in 
spring  in  your  garden." 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  feeling  that  she 
was  behaving  and  looking  foolishly. 
"  The  snow-drops  and  crocuses  are  doing 
very  well." 

"What  about  the  roses?"  he  said, 
softly,  with  a  glance  at  her  face.  "  And 
the  lilies?"  he  added,  his  eyes  falling 
to  her  arms. 

"Oh,  we  don't  have  them  for  a  while 
yet,"  she  answered  him,  simply. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  them  all 
the  year  round.  Eh?"  . 

"We  don't  have  any  forced  flowers, 
Mr.  Dobbie." 

1 06 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I  can  see  that." 

But  his  meaning  was  fortunately  lost 
on  her,  and  presently  he  smacked  his 
gloved  hands  together,  stamped  his 
pointed  shoes  on  the  step,  and  with  an 
affected  shiver  said: 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Houston,  the  garden  is  a 
pretty  place,  but  at  this  season  of  the 
year  it's  a  cold  place  for  talking  in. 
Aren't  you  afraid  of  getting  a  chill, 
standing  at  the  door?" 

Jess  shook  her  head.  She  felt  awk- 
ward, and  wished  he  would  go  away. 

"You  are  not  very  hospitable,"  he 
said,  with  a  light  laugh.  "Don't  you 
think  you  might  invite  me  inside  for  a 
few  minutes.  I  came  from  Glasgow  to- 
day especially  to  see  you — to  have  a 
little  chat  on  business,  you  know."- 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Jess, 
nervously.  "Will  you  come  into  the 
parlor,  Mr.  Dobbie?" 

"'Will  you  walk  into  my  parlor?" 
he  quoted,  with  an  air  of  originality,  as 
he    followed  her.     "  '  'Tis  the  prettiest 
little  parlor  that  ever  you  did  spy,'  "  he 
continued,  on  entering  the  room. 

"Will  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Dobbie?" 
she  asked,  gravely,  placing  a  chair  near 
the  fire. 

"  Don't  look  so  serious,  Mrs.  Houston," 
107 


Jess    &    Co. 

he  said,  stretching  his  hands  and  feet 
towards  the  grate.  "We  needn't  talk 
business  unless  you  like." 

"But  you've  come  from  Glasgow," 
she  began,  and  halted  lamely. 

"Won't  you  sit  down  yourself,  Mrs. 
Houston?"  he  inquired  politely,  rising. 

"No — no,  thank  you." 

"How  shy  she  is,"  he  said  to  himself, 
resuming  his  seat.  Then  aloud:  "I 
have  come  from  Glasgow  to  see  you 
because  you  have  not  come  from 
Kinlochan  to  see  me." 

"I — I  didn't  know  you  wanted  to  see 
me,  Mr.  Dobbie.  I  thought  the — the 
business  was  settled  for  three  months. 
It's  only  five  weeks  since  you  were — 
since  you  were  so  kind  to  me." 

He  smiled  in  a  way  that  many  of  his 
town  lady  friends  considered  quite  fas- 
cinating. "I've  been  hoping  you  would 
call  as  you  promised  —  well,  perhaps 
it  was  not  a  definite  promise — to  let 
me  know  how  affairs  were  progressing. 
You  gave  me  so  much  of  your  con- 
fidence during  one  call  that  I  think  I  was 
almost  justified  in  expecting  another. 
Can't  you  understand  how  deeply  I 
was  disappointed,  Mrs.  Houston?" 

"  Perhaps  I  should  have  let  you  know 
how  things  were  going  on,"  said  Jess, 
108 


Jess    &    Co. 

somewnat  coldly.  "But  they  were 
going  on  well,  and  I  knew  I  could 
manage  your  account  in  the  three 
months,  and  so  I  didn't  see  the  need  of 
writing.  I  haven't  been  in  Glasgow 
since  the  day  you  were  so  kind  to  me 
about  the  glass." 

"  But  you  will  be  coming  soon.  You 
must  find  it  rather  dull  here  in  the  dead 
season." 

"No." 

"But  it  must  be  appallingly  quiet." 

"It  is  quiet." 

"I  think  you  said  you  were  brought 
up  in  the  city,  Mrs.  Houston." 

"Yes." 

"And  don't  you  weary  for  a  little 
gayety  now  and  then?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you 
are  quite  contented  with  life  here?" 

"Yes." 

"Really?" 

"Yes." 

"Would  you  not  prefer  to  have  less 
work  and  worry,  Mrs.  Houston?" 

"No." 

Her  curt  answers  amused  rather  than 

annoyed  him.     "I  wish  I  were  so  easily 

pleased,"    he    sighed.     "But    you    can 

bring  some  pleasure  into  my  unsatis- 

109 


Jess    &    Co. 

factory  existence  by  coming  to  see  me, 
say,  this  day  week." 

"Oh,  I  can't,  Mr.  Bobbie." 

"This  day  week,"  he  repeated,  gently. 
"You  owe  me  something,  don't  you?" 

"The  money  will  be  paid  on  the  day 
you  said,"  she  replied,  feeling  at  a  loss. 

"Is  that  all  you  think  of  me?" 

"I — I  cannot  thank  you  any  more 
than  I've  done,"  she  said,  praying  that 
he  might  depart. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  came  to  see  you 
last  week?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

"  It  was  you  ?  I  heard  that  some  one 
had  asked  the  way  to  the  cottage.  But 
I  didn't  think — 

"I  found  the  cottage,  but  I  noticed 
your  husband  was  busy  in  his  garden — 
which  is  more  to  his  credit  than  to  that 
of  his  bank-account,  I'm  afraid — so  I 
passed  the  gate  reluctantly.  I  don't 
suppose  you  would  have  welcomed  me 
in  the  presence  of  your  husband." 

Jess  paled  slightly,  but  held  her  peace. 

"Mr.  Houston  has  no  idea  of  our 
little  secret?"  he  continued.  "You  are 
quite  certain  he  suspects  nothing?  .  .  . 
It's  just  as  well,  for  he  might  take  it 
badly  if  he  knew." 

"There's  nothing  wrong,"  she  gasped. 

"Oh  no,"  he  answered,  lightly, 
no 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Nothing  seriously  wrong.  Still,  you 
know,  a  man  doesn't  like  to  find  out 
that  he  is  being  managed.  You  under- 
stand? And,  as  you  told  me,  you  are 
very  anxious  to  manage  Mr.  Houston's 
affairs  without  his  knowing  what  is  going 
on.  It's  a  pretty  idea,  but  apt  to  lead  to 
trouble.  A  woman  can  take  too  much 
upon  herself.  Even  an  incapable  man 
has  his  dignity." 

"I — I  don't  understand."  For  the 
moment  she  felt  that  she  had  taken  too 
much  upon  herself. 

"Well,  I'll  put  it  plainly,  Mrs.  Hous- 
ton," he  said,  rising  slowly  and  turning 
his  back  to  the  fire.  "  Suppose  some  one 
told  Mr.  Houston  that  his  wife  knew 
his  financial  position — pardon  the  long 
words — and  concealed  it  from  him." 

"Oh!" 

"Suppose  some  one  told  him  that  his 
wife  was  treating  him  like  a  child. 
Would  he  like  it  ?  Would  he  appreciate 
her  self-sacrifice?" 

"  But  no  one  knows  but  you.  I  had 
to  tell  you,  Mr.  Dobbie.  You  were  so 
kind,  and  I  was  desperate  that  day.  .  .  . 
But  nobody  knows  but  you  about 
David."  Speaking  her  husband's  name 
seemed  to  strengthen  her.  She  looked 
him  straight  in  the  face. 
in 


Jess    &    Co. 

He  hesitated,  but  only  for  an  instant. 
"Nobody  knows  but  myself.  .  .  .  And 
nobody  else  need  know,"  he  said,  de- 
liberately. 

Jess  felt  herself  turning  cold;  her 
hand  tightened  on  the  back  of  the  chair 
she  had  been  holding  during  the  past 
five  minutes.  "Why — why  do  you  say 
that?"  she  asked  in  a  whisper. 

He  smiled.  "  Did  it  frighten  you.  .  .  . 
Jessie?" 

"How  dare  you!"  she  exclaimed. 

Still  smiling,  he  took  a  step  forward. 

"Don't  move!"  she  cried,  gripping 
the  back  of  the  chair  with  both  hands. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dear  girl. 
I  sha'n't  move.  I  wouldn't  spoil  the 
picture  you  make  on  any  account.  But 
I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Why  are  you 
angry?  Let's  be  friends.  Eh?" 

The  look  of  contempt  on  her  white 
face  stung  him  to  the  quick. 

"  Then  I'll  leave  you  in  the  mean  time, 
but  this  day  week  you'll  come  to  my 
office  and  persuade  me  to  make  it  up," 
he  said,  harshly.  .  .  .  "Won't  you?"  he 
asked,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone. 
"Won't  you?"  he  repeated,  this  time  in 
the  appealing  notes  of  a  lover. 

Jess  made  no  sound. 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  inquired,  softly. 
112 


J e^s s    &    Co. 

She  remained  silent,  and  he  could 
no  longer  endure  her  eyes  upon  him. 

"Good-bye  just  now — er — Mrs.  Hous- 
ton," he  said,  taking  his  hat  and  gloves 
from  the  table.  "I  hope  we'll  have  a 
pleasanter  chat  this  day  week.  At  what 
hour  may  I  expect  you?  .  .  .  What  on 
earth  are  you  doing?" 

Jess,  still  holding  the  chair,  had 
slipped  back  to  the  door  and  turned  the 
key. 

"So  you  don't  want  me  to  go  yet?" 
said  Mr.  Dobbie,  with  an  uncomfortable 
laugh. 

Mrs.  Houston  moistened  her  dry  lips. 
"  You  must  wait  till  David  comes  home," 
she  said,  quietly. 

For  the  moment  her  words  literally 
took  his  breath  away.  But  only  for 
the  moment.  "Are  you  mad?"  he 
demanded.  "You'll  make  me  lose  my 
steamer,  and  it's  the  last  to-night." 

She  paid  no  attention. 

"I  was  only  joking,  Mrs.  Houston. 
You've  made  me  feel  an  awful  ass,"  he 
said,  presently,  trying  to  laugh.  "Let 
us  part  in  peace,  as  the  hymn  says." 

Her  face,  if  anything,  grew  more  de- 
termined. "  You  must  wait,  Mr.  Dobbie, 
till  I  have  explained  matters  to  Mr. 
Houston." 


Jess    &    Co. 

"You  intend  to  tell  him  everything?" 

"Everything." 

The  man  considered,  and  when  he 
spoke  again  his  smile  was  ugly.  "Do 
you  wish  to  make  your  husband  a 
bankrupt,  Mrs.  Houston?" 

"You  wouldn't — "  she  began. 

"Would  you?" 

' '  You  said  three  months,  Mr.  Dobbie. ' ' 

"Did  I?" 

"Oh,  you — you — " 

He,  knowing  the  situation  was  his, 
advanced  towards  her,  saying,  politely, 
"Kindly  open  the  door." 

She  turned  the  key  mechanically. 

"Till  this  day  week,"  he  said,  pleas- 
antly, as  he  passed  into  the  lobby. 
"Hullo!" 

"Hullo,  yersel'!"  said  the  aggrieved 
voice  of  Mrs.  Wallace,  who  had  just 
come  from  the  kitchen,  having  entered 
by  the  back  door.  "Whit's  ado?  Wha's 
this?" 

"It's  all  right,  Aunt  Wallace,"  said 
Jess,  trying  to  steady  her  voice  as  she 
followed  her  unwelcome  visitor  from 
the  parlor. 

"  Guidsake,  lassie!  ye  luk  as  if  ye 
had  been  seein'  a  ghaist!  Wha's  this?" 
Mrs.  Wallace  demanded,  in  a  loud  whis- 
per, pointing  to  Mr.  Dobbie,  who  was 
114 


Jess    &    Co. 

struggling  with  the  patent  lock  on  the 
door. 

"Oh,  never  mind,  aunt,  never  mind," 
murmured  her  niece,  ready  to  collapse. 

Mrs.  Wallace  looked  sharply  at  Jess. 
"Is  he  a  freen  o'  yours?"  she  asked, 
quickly.  "Is  he  a  freen  o'  Davie's?" 

"No,  no!"  said  the  young  woman, 
wildly. 

"Sich  hem'  the  case,  he's  nae  freen  o' 
mines,"  muttered  Mrs.  Wallace.  "  Young 
man!"  she  suddenly  roared,  "quit 
spilin'  the  sneck  o'  that  door,  an'  pey 
attention  to  me." 

"Confound  this  lock!"  grunted  Mr. 
Dobbie,  with  another  wrench  at  the 
handle. 

"Bad  language  '11  no'  help  ye,"  cried 
Mrs.  Wallace. 

"Who's  the  old  party  ?"  he  exclaimed, 
angrily,  turning  to  Jess. 

"Auld  pairty!"  the  aunt  almost 
shrieked.  "I'll  auld  pairty  ye,  ye 
tailor's  dummy!  Ye  penny  masher! 
Ye—" 

"Aunt,  aunt!"  protested  Mrs.  Hous- 
ton. 

"Haud  yer  tongue,  lassie!  I'm  jist 
beginnin'.  Whit  has  the  man  stolen, 
Jess?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing!" 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I'm  gled  to  hear  ye  catched  him  in 
time.  But  I'll  pit  the  polis  on  his  track, 
onywey.  .  .  .  Weel,  Maister  Burgwlar, 
whit  ha'e  ye  got  to  say  fur  yersel'  ?  Eh  ?" 

White  with  wrath,  the  glass-merchant 
turned  on  her.  "  Show  me  how  to  open 
this  cursed  door,  or — ' 

"Whisht,  man!  Ye're  bad  enough 
wi'oot  sweerin'." 

"Aunt  Wallace,  for  my  sake  let  him 
go,"  whispered  Jess. 

"Let  him  gang?  Nae  fears!  Wait 
till  Davie  comes  hame  an'  he'll  mak' 
collops  o'  this  braw  bit  o'  mankind. 
I'm  no'  feart  fur  him.  I'll  stab  him 
wi'  ma  umbrella  as  shin  as  luk  at  him." 

The  enraged  man  spoke  again.  "Do 
you  know  who  I  am?"  he  roared. 

"Wha?"  said  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"My  name  is  Dobbie." 

"I'm  mair  curious  to  ken  whit  yer 
natur'  is." 

"And  I'll  tell  you  now  that  Mrs. 
Houston  has  foolishly  compromised  her- 
self—" 

"Whit?"  For  a  brief  space  the  el- 
derly woman  hesitated.  Then  she  strode 
forward  and  struck  him  over  the  head 
with  her  umbrella,  splitting  his  felt  hat 
and  crushing  it  over  his  eyes.  "That's 
yin  fur  you!"  she  cried. 
116 


Jess    &    Co. 

At  that  moment  he  succeeded  in 
opening  the  door. 

"Mr.  David  Houston  will  go  bankrupt 
for  this!"  he  yelled.  "I'll  show  him 
no  mercy." 

"An'  ye'll  get  nane,  either!"  cried 
Mrs.  Wallace,  making  a  dash  at  him. 
"Yin! .  .  .  Twa!  .  .  .  Three! .  .  .  Power!" 
And  she  rushed  down  the  garden-path 
after  him,  belaboring  him  with  her  um- 
brella till  it  broke  at  the  handle.  It  was 
an  utter  rout,  so  far  as  Mr.  Dobbie  was 
concerned. 

"I  doot  I've  been  whit  the  gentry 
ca'  vulgar,"  she  panted  to  he'rself  as  she 
returned  to  the  cottage. 

She  found  her  niece  on  the  verge  of 
fainting,  and  made  speed  to  soothe  and 
comfort  her  both  physically  and  men- 
tally. 

"Jess,  ma  dear,"  she  said,  when  the 
young  woman  had  somewhat  recovered, 
"I  doot  ye'll  ha'e  to  trust  yer  auld 
auntie.  Ye  canna  dae  everythin'  yer- 
sel'.  Naebody  can.  Dinna  mak'  a  lang 
story  aboot  it,  but  jist  tell  me  whit  I 
can  dae  to  help  ye." 

"I   ken  ye've  done  yer  best,"  said 

Mrs.  Wallace,  a  little  later.     "An"  ye'll 

dae  better  yet,  lass,"  she  added.  "I'll 
117 


Jess    &    Co. 

keep  it  a  secret  to  please  ye,  but  I'm 
feart  ye're  takin'  ower  big  a  responsi- 
beelity." 

"But  it's  only  for  a  few  months  now, 
Aunt  Wallace,"  Jess  pleaded.  "I  was 
so  proud  to  think  I  could  put  David's 
affairs  right  without  troubling  him.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  give  in  now." 

"  Weel,  weel,  a  wilfu'  wumman  '11  ha'e 
her  ain  wey.  But  mind  an'  trust  me. 
I  ha'ena  the  ready  money  ye  need,  but 
I'll  get  it  fur  ye  the  morn,  an'  ye'll 
pey  aff  Dobbie,  no'  furgettin'  to  keep 
back  the  price  o'  ma  guid  umbrella. 
An'  ye  can  pey  back  the  money  when  ye 
can.  ...  An'  noo  I'm  gaun  to  help  ye 
get  Davie's  tea  ready,  an'  ye  maun  gang 
early  to  yer  bed  the  nicht  an'  ha'e  a 
guid  sleep,  puir  lass." 

On  her  way  home  Mrs.  Wallace 
dropped  into  the  grocer's  shop. 

"  Hoo's  trade,  Mr.  Ogilvy?" 

"Deplorable!  Waur  nor  ever,  Mis- 
tress Wallace.  Did  ye  forget  somethin' 
when  ye  was  in  afore  ?" 

"Na.  But  I  cam'  back  to  see  if  ye 
cud  tell  me  whaur  I  cud  get  the  len' 
o'  forty  pound  the  morn's  mornin'." 


VI 
A   Little  Warmth   and   a    Blaze 

COME  in  to  your  tea,  Davie,"  called 
Jess  from  the  door  of  the  cottage. 

"I'm  jist  comin',"  replied  her  hus- 
band, who  was  bending  over  a  plot  under 
the  wall. 

"But  you  said  you  were  coming  half 
an  hour  ago." 

"Did  I?"  said  David,  grubbing  in 
the  earth.  "D'ye  like  sweet  -  peas, 
Jess?" 

"Yes.  But  I  don't  like  cold  tea  and 
cold  buttered  toast,"  his  wife  returned, 
impatiently.  "Come,  Davie." 

"  I'll  be  in  the  hoose  in  twa  ticks,  lass. 
Dinna  fash  yersel'.  The  warl's  no' 
comin'  to  an 'end!" 

"My  patience  is,  David." 

"Nae  fears!  I  ken  yer  patience 
better  nor  that!  Jist  think  o'  the  show 
o'  sweet-peas  ye'll  ha'e  in  July,  Jess! 
An'  I'll  let  ye  pu'  as  mony  o'  them  as 
ye  like,  an'  welcome,  dearie." 
119 


Jess    &    Co. 

"But  can't  you  finish  planting  them 
after  you've  had  your  tea,  Davie?"  she 
asked,  partly  appeased. 

"'Deed,  I  never  thocht  o'  that!  Of 
coorse  I  can."  And  David  Houston 
rose  and  followed  his  wife  into  the 
cottage.  "I'm  vexed  for  keepin'  ye 
waitin',  Jess,"  he  said,  as  he  joined  her 
in  the  kitchen.  "I  doot  I  whiles  forget 
things." 

"Oh,  never  mind.  It  doesn't  mat- 
ter," she  said,  coldly. 

"Are  ye  angry  wi'  me,  Jess?"  he 
asked,  anxiously. 

"Angry?     Why  should  I  be  angry?" 

"I — I  thocht  ye  wasna  pleased  at — 
at  somethin',"  he  answered,  lamely. 
"Ye  see,  I  forget  the  time  when  I'm  at 
ma  gairden,  an' — " 

"You've  been  at  the  garden  since 
seven  o'clock  this  morning,  David,"  she 
observed,  as  she  filled  his  teacup. 
"Your  breakfast  was  cold  before  you 
came  to  it,  and  so  was  your  dinner." 

"I  didna  fin'  onythin'  wrang  wi' 
either  o'  them,"  he  returned,  pleasantly. 
"Ye're  a  clever  yin  at  the  cookin',"  he 
added,  admiringly. 

Jess  looked  as  if  she  had  not  heard 
him.  It  was  the  local  spring  holiday, 
and  she  had  made  special  efforts  with 
1 20 


Jess    &    Co. 

the  homely  meals,  each  one  of  which 
had  been  spoiled  through  her  husband's 
late  appearance  at  table.  Still,  she  had 
kept  her  temper  so  far. 

"I'm  sayin'  ye're  a  clever  yin  at  the 
cookin',  Jess,"  he  repeated. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so." 

The  tone  of  her  voice  was  something 
new  to  David,  and  he  paused  in  con- 
veying half  a  slice  of  toast  to  his  mouth, 
and  stared  at  her. 

Avoiding  his  gaze,  she  played  with 
her  spoon  in  an  absent-minded  fashion. 

"What's  wrang,  lass?" 

"Nothing." 

"But  ye're  no'  takin'  yer  tea.  Are 
ye  no'  weel?" 

"Oh,  be  quiet!" 

"  But  I  dinna  like  to  see  ye  no'  enj  'yin' 
yer  tea." 

"Don't  bother.  Go  on  with  your 
own  tea,  and  get  back  to  your  garden." 

Mr.  Houston,  with  many  an  uncom- 
fortable glance  at  his  wife,  who,  in  spite 
of  his  efforts,  refused  to  be  drawn  into 
conversation,  continued  his  meal  with 
hardly  his  usual  hearty  appetite,  but 
with  an  obvious  desire  to  show  her  that 
he  appreciated  the  buttered  toast. 

"I  think  I'll  ha'e  a  smoke  noo,"  he 
remarked,  immediately  he  had  finished, 

121 


Jess    &    Co. 

and  was  surprised  when  his  wife,  con- 
trary to  custom,  failed  to  rise  to  fetch 
him  his  house -pipe  from  the  mantel- 
piece. 

After  a  short  period  of  waiting,  he 
drew  his  wooden  pipe  from  his  pocket 
and  proceeded  to  fill  it. 

Jess  rose  and  began  to  clear  away  the 
dishes,  a  thing  she  usually  delayed  doing 
until  David  had  enjoyed  a  ten-minutes' 
smoke. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  finish  planting 
your  seeds?"  she  inquired,  abruptly, 
addressing  the  teapot  in  her  hand. 

"I  was  thinkin'  I  wud  wait  till  ye 
was  ready  to  come  oot  to  the  gairden. 
It's  fine  an'  warm  the  nicht." 

"I  don't  think  I'll  come  out  to-night. 
I've  other  things  to  do.  Don't  wait," 
she  said,  with  her  back  to  him. 

"What  are  ye  busy  aboot  the  nicht, 
Jess?" 

"A  lot  of  things." 

Houston  got  up,  put  on  his  cap,  and 
moved  towards  the  door.  "Come  oot, 
if  ye  can,"  he  said,  kindly.  "I'm  gaun 
to  gi'e  ye  a  great  show  o'  sweet -peas  for 
the  summer." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  on  the  thresh- 
old he  halted  and  turned.  "Wud  ye 
no'  try  a — a — a  pill,  dearie?"  he  asked, 
122 


Jess    &    Co. 

with   the  utmost   hesitation   and  diffi- 
dence. 

The  color  rushed  to  Mrs.  Houston's 
face  and  her  eyes  sparkled.  She  stamp- 
ed her  foot.  "David  Houston!"  she 
cried,  "  will  you  go  to  your  garden  when 
I  ask  you?" 

"But,  Jess — "  he  began. 

A  plate  slipped  from  her  hands  and 
smashed  to  pieces  on  the  bottom  of  the 
sink.  "See  what  you've  made  me  do!" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Och,  never  heed  aboot  the  dish, 
lass,"  David  stammered,  at  last.  "I— 
I  wish  ye  wud  tell  me  what's  troublin' 
ye." 

"I  wish  you  would  go  when  I  ask 
you,"  said  his  wife,  her  lip  trembling. 

"Weel,  I'll  gang  to  please  ye,"  he 
returned,  miserably,  "but  I  wish  ye 
wud  tell  me  what — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  tinkle  of  a 
bell. 

"Oh,  dear!"  sighed  Mrs.  Houston, 
hopelessly. 

"  Wha  can  that  be  ?"  said  her  husband. 
"It's  past  postie's  time.  Wull  I  gang 
an'  see,  Jess?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jess,  in  a  choked  voice. 

With  an  anxious  look  at  her,  David  left 
the  kitchen,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 
123 


Jess    &    Co. 

Jess  hid  her  face  in  her  apron.  "I 
tried  to — to  give  him  a  treat  to-day," 
she  thought,  bitterly,  "but  he  thinks  of 
nothing  but  his  garden.  The  breakfast 
spoiled,  the  dinner  spoiled,  and  the — 

She  lifted  her  head  and  listened.  She 
heard  David's  voice  and  another's. 

"Miss  Perk!"  she  groaned.  "Oh,  I 
hope  Davie  '11  have  the  sense  not  to  ask 
her  in.  ...  No!  She's  away!" 

She  heard  the  front  door  shut,  but  the 
voices  began  again. 

"  He's  taking  her  into  the  parlor,"  she 
sighed.  "  I  might  have  known  he  would 
do  it." 

Presently  the  kitchen  door  opened  and 
David  looked  in.  "Jess,"  he  said,  in  a 
loud  whisper,  "  Miss  Perk's  in  the  paurlor 
wantin'  to  see  ye." 

"Is  she?"  said  his  wife,  languidly, 
turning  the  water  on  to  a  saucer. 

"  Ye'll  no'  be  lang,  wull  ye?" 

"I  don't  know  how  long  I'll  be." 

"  But  she — she's  wantin'  to  see  ye  par- 
teeclar,"  he  said,  entering  the  kitchen. 

"What  about?" 

"I  didna  speir.  But  ye'll  no'  be 
lang,  wull  ye,  Jess?  I'll  gang  an'  tell 
her  ye're  jist  comin',  an'  then  I'll  get 
on  wi'  plantin'  the  sweet-peas.  Eh, 
lass?" 

124 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Seeing  you  asked  Miss  Perk  into  the 
house,  you  had  better  go  and  keep 
her  company  till  I'm  ready,"  said  Mrs. 
Houston,  calmly. 

"But—" 

"I  can't  be  ready  for  half  an  hour. 
The  tea  was  so  late  to-night." 

"Hauf  an  'oor!  An'  what  wud  I  say 
to  her  for  hauf  an  'oor?" 

"  You  might  ask  her  if  she  likes  sweet- 
peas,"  said  Jess,  and  could  have  bitten 
out  her  tongue  for  saying  it. 

For  a  moment  or  two  her  husband 
regarded  her  with  puzzled  eyes,  then 
his  face  reddened. 

"I'm  vexed  if  I've  done  the  wrang 
thing,  dearie,"  he  said,  gently.  "The 
seeds  can  bide.  I'll  gang  into  the 
.paurlor  an'  dae  ma  best  to  —  to  be 
pleesant  an'  a'  the  rest  o'  't.  If  ye  like, 
I'll  pit  her  oot  the  hoose." 

"No,  no.  You  mustn't  do  that. 
Just  say  I  won't  be  long." 

David  took  a  step  nearer  his  wife, 
then  turned  abruptly  and  left  the 
kitchen. 

"  It  was  too  bad  of  me,"  thought  Jess, 
the  tears  filling  her  eyes. 

Once  more  the  door  opened,  and  her 
husband  whispered ,  imploringly :  ' '  For 
peety's  sake,  dinna  be  mair  nor  hauf 

I25 


Jess    &    Co. 

an  'oor."  He  vanished,  and  she  heard 
him  enter  the  parlor. 

Mrs.  Houston  dropped  into  a  chair 
and  laughed  quietly,  with  the  tears  still 
in  her  eyes.  "Poor  Davie!  If  he  had 
only  made  me  laugh  sooner!  But  I 
must  be  quick  and  go  after  him." 

Within  ten  minutes,  her  cheeks  flush- 
ed and  her  eyes  very  bright,  she  opened 
the  door  of  the  parlor. 

Miss  Perk  was  sitting  in  the  window, 
and  Mr.  Houston  occupied  an  inch  or 
two  of  the  chair  nearest  the  door,  the 
length  of  the  room  lying  between  them. 

"Good-evening,  Mrs.  Houston,"  said 
Miss  Perk,  as  Jess  greeted  her.  "Mr. 
Houston  and  I  have  been  having  quite 
a  delightful  chat.  Haven't  we,  Mr. 
Houston?" 

"Ay,"  said  David,  as  if  he  were  telling 
a  lie. 

"He  has  just  promised  to  bring  you 
to  my  lecture  on  Thursday  week,"  Miss 
Perk  resumed,  smiling  graciously  across 
the  room,  "and  also  to  Mr.  Croker's 
lecture  the  following  Monday.  And  he 
has  almost  promised  that  you  will  both 
attend  all  our  classes  and  lectures  next 
season.  I'm  quite  charmed,  Mrs. 
Houston." 

Without  daring  to  meet  his  wife's 
126 


Jess    &    Co. 

eyes,  David  rose,  and  saying,  "Excuse 
me,  I  maun  gang  oot  to  the  gairden," 
left  the  room  with  all  speed. 

Jess  managed  to  hide  her  vexation, 
and  made  a  commonplace  observation 
on  the  fineness  of  the  weather  for  the 
holiday. 

Miss  Perk  cordially  agreed  with  the 
observation,  and  continued: 

"It  must  be  so  gratifying  for  you, 
Mrs.  Houston,  to  notice  the  decided 
improvement  in  your  husband." 

"But  he  hasn't  been  ill,"  said  Jess,  in 
surprise. 

"I  mean  in  his  methods — his  business 
methods,  you  know." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  young  woman, 
taken  aback.  "I  don't  understand," 
she  added,  somewhat  haughtily. 

"Why,  every  one  is  talking  about 
him,"  said  the  visitor,  pleasantly,  if 
patronizingly,  "and  saying  how  in- 
dustrious he  is  becoming,  and  so  atten- 
tive to  his  work.  I'm  sure  you  must 
have  -noticed  a  difference  during  the 
past  six  months." 

Mrs.  Houston  held  her  tongue. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  notice  things  as 

we  do,"  Miss  Perk  went  on.     "But  I, 

and  many  of  my  friends,  can  assure  you 

that  the  improvement  is  there,  and  we 

127 


Jess    &    Co. 

sincerely  trust  it  may  be  permanent. 
I'm  sure  you  will  do  all  in  your  power  to 
make  it  so.  You  know  it  is  a  young 
wife's  duty  to  use  all  her  influence  in — 
in — " 

"What  are  you  going  to  lecture  on 
on  Wednesday  week,  Miss  Perk?"  Jess 
asked,  with  strained  politeness. 

"  Thursday  week,  Mrs.  Houston — 
Thursday  week,  at  seven  o'clock.  Well, 
curiously  —  or  perhaps  I  should  say 
appropriately — enough,  I  intend  to  read 
a  paper  on  the  young  wife's  influence 
during  the  first  year  of  married  life. 
I  have  earnestly  endeavored  to  treat 
the  subject  with  the  seriousness  and 
deep  consideration  it  deserves.  But  to 
return  to  your  husband,  I  am  sure  you 
must  be  delighted  by  what  I  have  told 
you,  for,  of  course,  you  are  aware  that 
in  marrying  him  you  entered  upon  quite 
a  precarious  existence;  and  I  am  sure, 
also,  that  you  will  not  take  offence 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  and  many  of  my 
friends  have  frequently  trembled  for 
your  future." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  your  friends  and 
yourself,"  said  Jess,  with  a  sweetness 
in  her  voice  which  would  have  sounded 
suspiciously  to  any  one  but  her  visitor. 

"Ah,  but,  being  Christians,  we  can- 
128 


Jess    &    Co. 

not  but  int.erest  ourselves  in  our  neigh- 
bors. And  since  you  came  to  settle  in 
Kinlochan,  I,  for  one,  have  been  keenly 
interested  in  your  life,  and  have  always 
hoped  that  nothing  might  occur  to  make 
you  less  satisfied  with  it  than  you  appear 
to  be.  I  thought  that,  perhaps,  the 
few  words  I  offered  you  some  months 
ago  might  have  been  instrumental 
towards  your  husband's  improvement, 
but  as  you  say  you  do  not  notice  any 
change  in  him,  I  conclude  the  im- 
provement has  come  from  himself, 
which  is  all  the  more  creditable  to  him." 

"Yes,"  murmured  Jess,  with  a  mild- 
ness she  was  far  from  feeling. 

"I  heard  only  the  other  day  that  Sir 
Archibald  was  simply  delighted  with  the 
way  in  which  his  greenhouses  had  been 
remodelled  and  repaired,  and  that  he 
was  going  to  recommend  your  husband 
to  Lord  Montgomery,  who  was  think- 
ing of — " 

"Lord  Montgomery  arranged  with 
David  yesterday,"  said  Mrs.  Houston, 
with  the  faintest  note  of  triumph  in  her 
voice. 

"Indeed.  That  is  extremely  grati- 
fying. Well,  Mrs.  Houston,  you  must 
now  make  up  your  mind  to  encourage 
your  husband  as  much  as  possible,  so 
129 


Jess    &    Co. 

that  there  is  no  chance  left  for  a  relapse. 
I  had  thought  of  speaking  to  him  my- 
self, but  no  doubt  the  matter  is  safe  in 
your  hands." 

"I'll  think  about  it,"  said  Jess,  hold- 
ing herself  in.  "Have  you  seen  my 
aunt,  Mrs.  Wallace,  lately?"  she  in- 
quired, suddenly. 

"No — no;  not  lately.  Not  for  some 
time,  in  fact.  I  trust  she  is  quite 
well,"  Miss  Perk  replied,  with  a  smile 
that  might  have  been  misconstrued. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Wallace  is  always  well," 
the  niece  returned,  cheerfully. 

The  visitor  mentioned  a  few  local 
topics,  but  in  a  hurried  manner  suggest- 
ing that  she  was  ill  at  ease.  "Do  you 
expect  your  aunt  this  evening,  Mrs. 
Houston?"  she  inquired,  about  five 
minutes  later. 

"Aunt  Wallace  just  comes  along 
when  it  suits  her.  She  might  come  in 
any  time." 

Miss  Perk  rose.  "I'm  afraid  I  can- 
not wait  longer  on  the  chance  of  the 
pleasure  of  a  chat  with  her,  but  pray 
give  her  my  kind  regards  when  you  see 
her.  I'll  pop  in  soon  again,  and  per- 
haps find  her  with  you.  Now  I  must 
really  go." 

Mrs.  Houston  conducted  her  visitor 
130 


Jess    &    Co. 

to  the  door,  and  in  the  porch  the  lat- 
ter said:  "I  thought  we  should  have 
found  your  husband  in  the  garden.  I 
should  like  to  have  seen  him." 

"He's  not  there,"  said  Jess,  looking 
about.  "  He'll  likely  have  walked  along 
the  road." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  can  take  a 
message  for  him.  You  might  kindly 
tell  him  that  our  drawing-room  window 
is  not  working  nicely,  and  ask  him  to 
come  and  put  it  right  first  thing  in  the 
morning.  Can  you  remember  that,  Mrs. 
Houston?" 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Jess — she  wasn't — 
"but  he  will  be  busy  all  to-morrow." 

"The  day  after  will  do." 

"I  don't  think  he  could  attend  to  it 
for  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks." 

"Dear  me!  I  didn't  know  he  was  so 
busy  as  all  that,"  said  Miss  Perk,  in  a 
tone  of  annoyance.  "However,  I'll  call 
at  his  workshop  to-morrow  and  see  what 
can  be  done.  Good  -  evening,  Mrs. 
Houston." 

"Good -evening,  Miss  Perk." 

Jess  re-entered  the  cottage,  and  met 
David  in  the  dusky  passage. 

"Is  she  awa' ?"  he  whispered. 

"Yes,"  replied  his  wife,  smiling  in 
spite  of  herself.  "She  wanted  to  see 


Jess    &    Co. 

you."  She  delivered  the  message  and 
told  himVhat  she  had  said  to  the  visitor 
in  reply. 

"I  wudna  gang  inside  her  hoose  for 
five  pound.  She  gets  me  to  promise 
things  I  dinna  mean.  I'm  vexed  at  ma 
stupeedity,  lass." 

"Never  mind,  Davie." 

"Aw,  but,  Jess,  I  didna  mean  to 
annoy  ye." 

"It's  all  right,  Davie  lad.  I  dare  say 
we'll  be  none  the  worse  of  the  lectures." 

"I'm  vexed  aboot  the  lectures,  but 
I'm  mair  vexed  aboot  anither  thing." 

"What's  that?"  She  felt  a  thrill  of 
pleasure  to  think  that  at  last  he  under- 
stood the  cause  of  her  annoyance  earlier 
in  the  evening.  After  all,  she  had  not 
labored  for  his  creature  comforts  in  vain. 
"  What's  that  ?"  she  repeated,  softly  and 
encouragingly. 

"The — the  pill,"  he  stammered.  "I 
didna  mean  to  annoy  ye  when  I  men- 
tioned it.  Are  ye  feelin'  quite  weel 
noo?" 

For  an  instant  Jess  felt  she  wanted  to 
slap  his  face.  Then  she  burst  out 
laughing. 

"I'm  gled  ye're  no'  angry  wi'  me 
ony  mair,"  he  said,  and  kissed  her. 

"Did  you  get  the  sweet  -  peas 
132 


Jess    &    Co. 

planted  ?"  she  inquired,  as  she  drew  him 
into  the  parlor. 

He  shook  his  head.  "Ye  see,  I  didna 
gang  oot  to  the  gairden  efter  a'.  I  jist 
sat  in  the  kitchen  waitin'  for  her  to  gang. 
I  hadna  the  hert  to  plant  onythin'  when 
ye  was  angry  wi'  me,  Jess." 

"You're  just  a  laddie,  Davie,"  she 
said,  not  chaffingly,  but  with  a  world 
of  affection  in  her  voice.  "And  now 
I'm  going  to  have  an  hour  at  the  books," 
she  added,  quickly. 

"Wull  ye  no'  come  for  a  walk, 
dearie?" 

"I'll  come  afterwards.  It  '11  be  too 
dark  for  the  garden  now,  so  you  better 
take  your  paper  and  keep  me  company 
till  I  get  through  the  accounts." 

She  laid  ink  and  pen  on  the  table, 
and  brought  her  husband's  ledger  from 
the  bookcase.  She  seated  herself,  think- 
ing how  much  more  cheerful  the  fig- 
ures before  her  were  to-night  than  six 
months  ago.  Among  the  neatly  kept 
accounts  she  forgot  the  worries  of  the 
day,  and  now  and  then  fell  to  dreaming 
of  how,  in  the  not  very  distant  future, 
she  would  present  David  with  a  balance- 
sheet  (which  she  would  have  to  explain) 
showing  him  the  reward  of  his  labor 
in  black  and  white. 

133 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Donald  Binnie  is  to  get  a  rise  next 
Setturday,"  remarked  Mr.  Houston, 
settling  himself  in  the  easy-chair  and 
glancing  admiringly  at  his  wife. 

"How  much,  Davie?" 

"Twa  shullin's.     He's  worked  for  it." 

"All  right.  Anything  else?"  asked 
Mrs.  Houston,  making  a  note  in  a  small 
book. 

"I  gi'ed  auld  Angus  five  shullin's 
yesterday.  He  wantit  it  for  his  sister. 
She's  vera  badly  the  noo,  puir  buddy." 

"  I'll  go  and  see  her  to-morrow,  Davie. 
But  you  would  have  been  better  to  have 
told  me  first,  for  Angus  always  buys 
the  wrong  things  for  his  sister.  She's 
far  too  old  and  frail  for  tinned  salmon 
and  cream  cheeses." 

"But  she  likes  them  better  nor  ony- 
thin'  else,  Angus  tell't  me.  She  likes 
tasty  things,  ye  ken.  .  .  .  But  I'm  aye 
daein'  the  wrang  thing,  Jess,"  he  mut- 
tered, sadly.  "I  sudna  ha'e  gi'ed  him 
the  five  shullin's." 

"Yes,  you  should.  But  you  should- 
n't have  given  it  till  I  had  a  chance  of 
telling  the  poor  man  what  to  buy.  It's 
a  pity  he  won't  let  any  one  help  to  nurse 
his  sister.  Aunt  Wallace  made  some 
grand  soup  the  other  day  and  took  it  to 
Angus,  and — " 

134 


Jess    &    Co. 

"  Did  he  no'  tak'  it  to  his  sister  ?  I'll 
ha'e  to  speak  to  him.  He's  gay  dour, 
is  Angus." 

"  I  think  he  took  it  to  his  sister,  Davie, 
but  the  next  morning  he  brought  it 
back  to  Aunt  Wallace,  and  said  his 
sister  was  terribly  obliged  but  she 
couldn't  eat  it  to  please  the  king.  And 
you  never  saw  better  soup.  I  wish  I 
could  make  soup  like  Aunt  Wallace. 
So,  Davie,  don't  give  Angus  any  more 
extra  money  without  telling  me.  He 
and  I  won't  quarrel,  you  know.  We're 
great  friends." 

"I  ken  that,  Jess.  Angus  wud  dae 
onythin'  for  you.  Weel,  I'll  mind  what 
ye  say.  .  .  .  Here's  three  pound  fifteen 
I  got  frae  Maister  Granger  yesterday. 
He  tuk  aff  five  per  cent,  for  prompt  pay- 
ment." David  got  up,  laid  the  money 
on  the  table,  and  resumed  his  seat. 

"Prompt  payment!"  said  Jess,  laugh- 
ing, and  turning  up  page  139  in  the 
ledger.  "The  account  has  been  owing 
about  fifteen  months.  Doesn't  Mr. 
Granger  keep  a  footman  and  a  butler?" 

"He  does  that,"  said1  David.  "An' 
a  page  forbye." 

"Well,  he  should  try  keeping  a  penny 
diary.  But  I'm  glad  the  account's  paid. 
I  was  afraid  it  was  going  to  be  a  bad 

135 


Jess    &    Co. 

debt.  He's  welcome  to  the  five  per  cent. 
It  '11  likely  be  the  only  thing  he  keeps 
that  doesn't  cost  him  anything!" 

"Ye're  rale  smairt,  Jess,"  her  hus- 
band remarked,  smiling.  "  I  daur  say  if 
ye  hadna  been  lukin'  efter  the  books, 
the  accoont  wud  ha'e  been  staunin' 
yet.  I  cud  never  ask  thae  gentry  for 
money." 

"  It  seems  to  be  the  only  way  of  getting 
it  from  a  lot  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Houston, 
slowly  turning  over  the  pages  of  the 
ledger.  "They're  not  all  like  Sir  Archi- 
bald of  Arden  and  Mr.  Colman." 

"That's  true,  lass.  They're  gentle- 
men though  they're  gentry." 

"That's  not  bad,  Davie!" 

"What,  Jess?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  .  .  .  Well,  is  that  all?" 

"Ay.  I'll  gi'e  ye  a  list  o'  odd  jobs 
the  morn  to  pit  in  the  book.  I'm  shair 
I  dinna  ken  hoo  I  managed  things  afore 
ye  cam'  to  help  me,  Jess.  I  was  aye 
a  puir  haun  at  the  books.  I — I  think 
ye're  jist  a  great  wumman." 

"You're  havering,  Davie!" 

"I'm  no'!  But  I  like  to  hear  ye 
speak  a  word  like  that.  Ye've  got  sic 
a  genteel  wey  o'  speakin',  dearie." 

"I  can't  help  it.     Father  spoke  like 
Aunt  Wallace,  but  mother  wouldn't  let 
136 


Jess    &    Co. 

us  follow  his  example.  And  then,  when 
I  was  in  the  office,  I — " 

"  I  ken  fine.  I  wud  speak  like  ye  if  I 
cud  manage  it — but  I  canna." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  speak  like 
any  one  but  [yourself,  Davie.  Really, 
I  don't.  I — I  couldn't  believe  you  if 
you  spoke  differently." 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"  Davie,"  said  Jess,  breaking  it,  "have 
you  ever  put  the  lock  on  Aunt  Wallace's 
coal-cellar  door?" 

"I  clean  forgot,"  he  replied,  deject- 
edly. 

"Oh,  Davie!  It's  such  an  old  story!" 
she  said,  reproachfully. 

Mr.  Houston  groaned.  "I'm  that 
used  to  it  that  I  aye  forget  it.  It's  jist 
like  askin'  a  blessin'  on  wur  meat." 

' '  But  you  always  ask  a  blessing, 
Davie." 

"Ye  aye  remind  me,  Jess." 

Mrs.  Houston  bit  at  the  end  of  her 
penholder  before  she  replied.  "You 
must  see  about  the  lock  to-morrow." 

"Ay;  I'll  see  aboot  it."  David  got 
up  from  his  chair  and  came  close  to  her. 
"Jess,  Jess!"  he  cried.  "Are  ye  ever 
sorry  ye  mairrit  me?" 

"Davie!" 

"But  I'm  askin'  ye.  I'm  aye  daein' 
137 


Jess    &    Co. 

things  that  vexes  an'  displeases  ye. 
Ye  ken  that  fine.  But  I'm  askin'  if 
ye're  ever  sorry  ye  mairrit  me."  He 
laid  his  big  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
bent  down,  trying  to  look  into  her  face. 
"Jess,  are  ye  ever  sorry?" 

"Davie,  dear!"  was  all  she  could  say. 

"But  tell  me — tell  me!  For  God's 
sake  tell  me!" 

Somehow  she  did  not  answer  him  at 
once. 

He  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her, 
and  his  hand  slipped  down  to  her 
waist. 

"Jess,  ma  dear,"  he  whispered,  "if  I 
ever  hurt  ye — if  I  ever  hurt  ye  in  the 
least  wee  thing,  forgi'e  me! — for  I  didna 
mean  it.  I  cudna  mean  it,  lass." 

"Don't,  Davie!"  she  sobbed. 

"  But  ye  ken  what  I  mean.  Oh,  Jess, 
tell  me,  tell  me,  are  ye  ever  sorry  ye 
mairrit  me?" 

She  found  her  voice.  "  Never — never 
— never!"  she  cried,  and  her  arms  went 
round  his  neck. 

The  bell  rang  violently,  and  there  was 
a  savage  hammering  at  the  cottage  door. 

They  hastened  from  the  parlor  to- 
gether, clinging  to  each  other  in  the 
moment  of  mingled  happiness  and  ap- 
prehension. 

138 


Jess    &    Co. 

A  small  boy  stood  in  the  porch, 
his  face  perspiring,  his  breath  gasp- 
ing. 

"The  shop's  on  fire,"  he  spluttered. 

"What  shop?" 

"The  jiner's  shop.  Your  shop.  Ye 
better  come  quick  if  ye  want  to  see  ony 
o'  it  left."  And  he  disappeared  in  the 
darkness. 

"Davie!" 

"Jess!" 

"Here's  your  cap,  lad  .  .  .  I've  got  a 
shawl.  ...  Of  course,  I'm  coming  with 
you." 

They  hurried  from  the  cottage,  and 
along  the  road.  The  glare  of  the  fire 
— not  so  huge,  after  all — shone  ahead 
of  them,  and  was  reflected  in  a  little 
bay  of  the  loch. 

"Oh,  Jess,"  gasped  David. 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  panted  Jess. 

They  were  running  through  a  dark 
avenue,  when  a  figure  seemed  to  come 
into  being  before  David,  threw  up  its 
arms,  and  dropped  on  its  knees  at  his 
feet,  so  suddenly  that  David  nearly  fell 
over  it. 

"Angus!"  cried  husband  and  wife  at 
once. 

The  old  man  clutched  David's  knees. 
"  I  served  yer  fayther  faithful,"  he  cried. 
139 


Jess    &    Co. 

"  I  served  him  faithful !     An'  I've  served 
his  son — I've  served — " 

"Angus,  man.  What  are  ye  cooryin' 
there  for?"  cried  David.  He  caught  the 
poor  soul  by  one  arm,  while  Jess  caught 
him  by  the  other,  and  the  twain  dragged 
him  to  his  feet.  "What  is  it,  Angus?" 

"I  served  yer  fayther,  an'  I've  served 
his  son  as  weel  as  ma  auld  age  wud  let 
me.  Ay,  I've  served — " 

"What  am  I  to  dae  wi'  him,  Jess?" 
whispered  Houston,  hoarsely.  "He's 
seen  the  fire,  an — " 

"The  fire!  the  fire!"  wailed  Angus. 
"It  was  masel'  done  that.  I  gaed  to 
sleep,  an'  Maister  Ogilvy  had  gi'ed  me 
a  bit  tobacco,  an' —  Oh,  maister,  mais- 
ter,  I  served  yer  fayther,  an'  I've  served 
his — " 

"Davie,"  said  Jess,  "you  run  on,  and 
I'll  follow  you  Run  on,  and  see  if  you 
can  do  anything." 

"Wull  ye  be  safe,  wife?" 

"Yes,  yes!  I'll  be  after  you  in  no 
time." 

Houston  ran  off,  and  his  wife  turned 
to  the  old  man  who  was  clinging  to  her 
hand. 

"Oh,  Mistress  Houston,"  he  began, 
"I  served  his  fayther  faithful,  an'  I 
served — " 

140 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Would  you  serve  me,  Angus?"  she 
asked,  quietly,  her  free  hand  on  her 
heart. 

"Serve  you,  mistress?"  It  meant 
more  than  a  great  oath. 

"Well,  Angus,"  she  said,  steadily, 
"you'll  serve  me  —  and  David,  too — 
very  well,  if  you'll  try  to  forget  about 
the  fire  at  the  shop,  and  go  along  and 
attend  to  the  fire  at  Hazel  Cottage.  .  .  . 
No,  no!  the  cottage  isn't  on  fire.  I 
meant  the  kitchen  fire.  You'll  find  the 
door  open.  Look  after  the  fire  —  the 
kitchen  fire — and  have  the  kettle  ready 
to  the  boil.  D'you  understand,  Angus  ?" 

"Ay,  mistress." 

"And  you  won't  leave  the  cottage  till 
we  get  back?" 

"Na,  na!" 

"What  about  your  sister?" 

"She's  sleepin'  lang  syne.  But,  oh, 
mistress,  d'ye  think  he'll  pit  me  awa'? 
I've  served  his  fayther,  an — " 

"No,  Angus.  David  won't  put  you 
away,  whatever  happens.  Now,  go  to 
the  cottage.  I'm  depending  on  you." 

Old  Angus  did  a  queer  thing.  He 
kissed  her  hand  before  he  let  it  go. 

A  joiner's -shop,   especially  if  it  be 
twenty  miles  from  a  fire-station,  makes 
141 


Jess    &    Co. 

a  merry  blaze,  but  a  short  one.  Fort- 
unately, the  wind  blew  kindly,  and 
David  Houston's  wood  -  yard  escaped. 
Otherwise  it  was  ruin,  and  blackest  of 
black  ruin. 

Before  midnight  all  was  over,  but  it 
was  after  one  in  the  morning  when 
David  and  Jess  walked  slowly  home 
together  through  the  calm,  sweet  air. 
For  half  the  distance  they  walked  in 
silence,  the  woman  gripping  her  hus- 
band's arm,  for  he  was  dead  beat  with 
much  exertion.  His  face  and  hands 
were  filthy  with  soot  and  charred  wood. 

He  heaved  a  great  sigh.  "Jess,  lass, 
ye'll  be  sorry  ye  mairrit  me  noo.  We've 
naethin'  left." 

"No,  I'm  not  sorry,  Davie  lad." 

"But  I  deserve  it,"  he  groaned.  "I 
clean  forgot  to  pey  ma  insurance  twa- 
three  weeks  syne.  Oh,  Jess,  ye've  a 
stupit,  stupit  man!" 

"It's  me  that's  stupid!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Oh,  Davie,  you've  been 
suffering  all  this  time  about  the  in- 
surance, and  I  forgot  to  tell  you  I  paid 
it  a  fortnight  ago." 


VII 
"Profit    and    Loss 


"  DUT  I  can  carry  it  easily,"  said  Mrs. 
D  Houston,  referring  to  the  small  or- 
der she  had  just  given  the  grocer. 

"  Na,  na,"  returned  Mr.  Ogilvy,  firmly, 
"I'll  send  it  wi'  the  utmaist  pleesure. 
That  laddie  o'  mines  is  jist  eatin'  his 
heid  aff,  as  it  were,  for  want  o'  some- 
thin'  to  dae.  Ye  see,"  continued  the 
grocer,  who  had  been  vainly  longing  all 
afternoon  for  some  one  to  talk  to  —  '  '  ye 
see,  Mistress  Houston,  it's  no'  as  if  it 
was  the  simmer,  when  things  is  kin'  o' 
brisk  —  no'  as  brisk  as  they  micht  be  — 
but  jist  kin'  o'  brisk  —  an'  the  laddie's 
cairryin'  messages  near  a'  day  to  the 
veesitors  an'  whiles  near  rin  aff  his  twa 
feet  tryin'  for  to  obleege  folk  that 
forgets  what  they're  needin'  till  the 
last  meenit,  an'  are  ower  prood  to 
cairry  a  paircel  unless  maybe  yin  con- 
tainin'  jools  or  scent  or  some  ither 
vanity.  Deed,  ay!  It's  fair  monster^ 
143 


Jess    &    Co. 

cms  the  wey  some  folk  come  dancin' 
into  the  shop,  jist  as  if  their  internal 
organs — excuse  me  mentionin'  sic  things, 
Mistress  Houston — jist  as  if  the  organs 
I  refer  to  had  remindit  them  suddently 
— expectin'  me  to  send  proveesions  to 
every  pint  o'  the  compass  as  quick  as 
ye  can  say  'Jack  Robison'!" 

"It's  a  good  thing  you  have  a  good 
temper,  Mr.  Ogilvy,"  Jess  remarked, 
smiling,  and  preparing  to  depart. 

"I  doot  ma  temper's  no'  aye  that 
guid.  Some  o'  the  messages  is  hardly 
worth  cairryin',  an'  it's  suffeecient  to 
mak'  an  or'nar'  buddy  like  masel'  bile 
to  be  commandit,  for  example,  to  send 
tippence-worth  o'  bird-seed  a  mile  alang 
the  shore,  wi'oot  delay,  to  a  leddy  that 
gets  next  to  naethin'  frae  me  as  a 
rule." 

"What  a  sin!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hous- 
ton, sympathetically. 

"  'Deed,  Mistress  Houston,  I  whiles 
try  to  think  of  Job  bein'  a  grocer;  but, 
efter  a',  it's  maybe  jist  as  weel  for  him 
he  wasna.  I  doot  he  wud  ha'e  fleed  up 
as  I  did,  though  I  tried  no'  to  shew  it, 
when  a  leddy  cam'  in  yin  mornin'  in 
July  an'  ordered  an  unce  o'  pepper- 
corns to  be  sent  hauf  a  mile  in  a  hurry 
because  her  cook  was  waitin'  on  them, 
144 


Jess    &    Co. 

an"  she  wasna  gaun  stracht  hame.  She 
wasna  a  vera  guid  customer,  but  I  tell't 
her  as  nice  as  possible  I  was  rale  sorry 
I  had  naebody  to  send  wi'  her  esteemed 
order  —  I  said  '  esteemed '  ablow  ma 
breith,  ye  ken.  But  she  turned  on  me 
as  if  she  was  a  doochess  an'  me  a  bit  o' 
dirt,  an'  speirt  in  an  exceedin'  offensive 
v'ice  if  I  didna  keep  a  boy.  I  was  that 
angry  I  didna  care  if  she  never  darkened 
ma  door  again,  an'  I  tell't  her  I  did  keep 
a  boy,  but  he  was  jist  a  human  yin  wi' 
twa  airms  an'  twa  legs,  an'  no'  a  new 
patent  fleein' -machine  fit  to  cover  twa- 
three  hunner  mile  an'  'oor  an'  deleever 
messages  as  shin  as  they  was  oot  the 
customers'  mooths.  An'  she  smiled  gey 
soor-like  an'  said.  I  sud  keep  mair  nor 
the  yin  boy.  I  was  gaun  to  gi'e  her  a 
reply  to  that,  but  jist  then  the  laddie 
cam'  in;  and  thinkin'  it  better  no'  to 
create  a  scene,  as  it  were,  I  sent  him 
alang  wi'  the  peppercorns." 

"That  was  good  of  you,  Mr.  Ogilvy." 
"Ay;  an'  I  got  a  rich  an'  braw  reward! 
She  sent  them  back  the  next  day,  be- 
cause they  was  black  an'  she  wan  tit 
white.  It's  as  true  as  I'm  here,  Mis- 
tress Houston!" 

Jess  tried  not  to  laugh ,  and  murmured 
something     sympathetic.      "Well,    Mr. 
145 


Jess    &    Co. 

Ogilvy,  I  must  be  going.  Thanks  for 
sending  the  things — there's  no  hurry  for 
them." 

"I'll  send  them  inside  the  'oor.  The 
laddie's  at  his  tea  the  noo,  but  he'll  no' 
be  lang,"  said  the  grocer,  who  did  not 
want  her  to  go  just  yet.  "Ye'll  be 
gey  prood  o'  David's  new  place,"  he 
remarked.  "I  never  seen  a  finer  jiner's- 
shop.  I  was  through  it  wi'  David  the 
ither  day,  an'  was  tellin'  him  it  was 
jist  like  a  palace  efter  the  auld  place. 
My!  it  was  unco  clever  o'  ye  to  mind 
aboot  the  insurance,  Mistress  Houston," 
he  went  on  with  admiration  in  his 
voice.  "David  tell't  me  aboot  it." 

"Did  he?"  said  Jess,  looking  and 
feeling  shy. 

"Ay;  he  tell't  me.  Ye 're  no'  vexed 
at  me  kennin',  are  ye,  Mistress  Hous- 
ton?" 

"No,  no.  But  there's  no  need  to  say 
anything  about  it  to  anybody  else." 

"I  wudna  dae  that^ — nae  fears!  I'm 
as  secret  as  a  —  a — tinned,  tongue," 
returned  the  grocer,  finding  sudden 
inspiration  on  his  counter.  "  I  am  that, 
Mistress  Houston.  An'  I  ken  fine 
David  tell't  me  aboot  it  in  the  fulness 
o'  his  hert,  for  he  said,  '  If  it  hadna  been 
for  ma  wife,  Ogilvy,  I  wud  be  a  ruined 
146 


Jess    &    Co. 

man  this,,  day.'  That  was  when  he 
was  lettiii'  me  see  the  new  premises,  so 
to  speak.  An'  he  was  tellin'  me  hoo 
dacent  a'  his  big  customers  ha'e  been 
in  lettin'  the  jobs  staun  till  he  was  in  a 
poseetion  for  to  attend  to  them;  an' 
when  I  tell't  him  it  was  jist  because  they 
kent  when  they  had  a  guid  man,  he 
turned  on  me  gey  quick,  an'  said,  'It's 
the  wife  that  brocht  a'  the  luck!'  An' 
I  believe  he  wasna  faur  wrang,  Mistress 
Houston!" 

"I  must  really  go,  Mr.  Ogilvy,"  the 
young  woman  said,  flushing. 

"Ye'll  be  gaun  to  see  yer  aunt,  may- 
be?" said  the  grocer,  with  exaggerated 
carelessness,  while  he  toyed  with  his 
ham-knife. 

"No.  She  went  up  to  the  town  this 
morning." 

"She  gaed  to  the  toon  this  mornin'! 
It's  queer  I  didna  see  her  gaun  to  the 
boat.  But  I  mind  noo  that  ma  atten- 
tion was  occupied  wi'  pickin'  oot  a 
hauf-dizzen  chippit  eggs  for  Mistress 
Waddell — puir  buddy — jist  when  the 
boat  was  comin'  in  to  the  pier.  An'  is 
yer  aunt  for  bidin'  lang  in  Glesca, 
Mistress  Houston?" 

"Oh   no.     She'll   be  home  with   the 
last  boat  to-night." 
147 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Jist  that.  Ay.  Mphm.  The  last 
boat  the  nicht.  Ay,"  said  the  grocer, 
with  nervous  satisfaction,  putting  down 
the  knife  and  absent-mindedly  laying  his 
hand  on  a  bunch  of  sausages  and  then 
drawing  it  away  with  a  start  at  the 
clammy  contact. 

"Well,  good  -  bye,  just  now,  Mr. 
Ogilvy,"  said  Mrs.  Houston,  turning 
towards  the  door. 

The  grocer,  however,  seemed  not  to 
hear  her,  for,  keeping  his  gaze  fixed  on 
the  sausages,  he  continued: 

"The  last  boat  the  nicht.  Ay.  Jist 
that.  Eh — what  was  it  I  was  gaun  to 
say,  noo?"  He  halted,  scratching  the 
tip  of  his  nose  in  a  thoughtful  fashion, 
while  Jess  felt  both  irritated  and 
amused.  "What  was  it  I  was  gaun  to 
say?"  he  repeated.  "  I  doot  I'm  lossin' 
ma  mem'ry." 

"Was  it  anything  about  Mrs.  Wal- 
lace?" asked  Jess,  unable  to  resist 
putting  the  question. 

"Weel,"  returned  Mr.  Ogilvy,  who 
had  now  reached  what  might  be  de- 
scribed as  a  twittering  condition — "  weel, 
Mistress  Houston,  I — I  wudna  say  it 
wasna.  In  fac',  I  micht  venture  to  say 
it — it  was  aboot  yer  highly  respectit 
aunt.  Ay.  I  wud  be  tellin'  ye  an  un- 
148 


Jess    &    Co. 

truth  if  I  said  it  wasna."  Here  he 
paused,  transferred  his  gaze  from  the 
sausages  to  his  boots,  and,  heaving  a 
soft  sigh,  passed  his  hand  across  his 
forehead. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Ogilvy,"  Mrs.  Houston 
murmured,  encouragingly. 

"Whaur  was  I?"  helplessly  inquired 
the  grocer.  "Oh,  ay.  I  was  speakin' 
aboot  yer  aunt,  as  it  were.  Was  I  no'  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Houston  again,  be- 
ginning to  wish  she  had  not  waited. 

"  I — I  hope,  Mistress  Houston,  ye  ha'e 
nae  objection  to  ma  speakin'  aboot  yer 
highly  respectit  aunt." 

"So  long  as  you  don't  say  nasty  things 
about  her,"  replied  Jess,  as  lightly  as 
possible. 

"Aw,  Mistress  Houston!"  exclaimed 
the  grocer.  "Ye  ken  fine  I  wudna  dae 
that.  The  words  wud  choke  me,  jist 
as  if  they  was  fish -banes.  Ay,  wud 
they!  I  micht  say  I  conseeder  Mistress 
Wallace  a — an  exceedin'  admire-able 
pairty.  I  dae  that."  Again  he  wiped 
his  brow. 

The  young  woman  checked  a  smile, 
and  looked  out  through  the  open  door. 

"An  exceedin'   admire-able  pairty," 
Mr.  Ogilvy  repeated,  almost  to  himself, 
and  relapsed  into  silence. 
149 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Did  you  want  to  give  me  some 
message  for  my  aunt?"  Jess  inquired, 
at  last.  "I'll  see  her  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. But  she'll  likely  be  coming  into 
the  shop  on  her  way  from  the  boat  to- 
night." 

"Na.  She'll  no'  dae  that.  I  ken 
she's  no'  needin'  onythin'.  She  got 
extra  proveesions  yesterday,  an'  I  was 
wunnerin'  at  the  time  what  she  wantit 
them  for,  no'  bein'  aware  o'  her  pre- 
meditated jaunt  to  Glesca.  Na;  she'll 
no'  be  in  here  the  nicht." 

"Well,  if  you've  any  message,  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  I'll  be  glad  to  give  it  to  her 
to-morrow." 

"I'm  shair  I'm  vera  greatly  obleeged 
to  ye,  Mistress  Houston,"  said  the 
grocer,  moistening  his  lips  and  clutching 
gently  at  his  apron.  "Ye  see — ye  see, 
it's  a  maitter  that  I'm  kin'  o'  sweirt  to 
mention  to  her  masel'!  I've  tried  to 
mention  it  mair  nor  yinst,  but  ma 
stammerin'  tongue  wudna  let  me.  So, 
if  ye '11  be  as  kind  as  to — " 

Rather  alarmed,  Jess  interposed,  say- 
ing— 

"But,  oh,  Mr.  Ogilvy,  if  it's  anything 
particular,  I  really  think  you  should  say 
it  yourself." 

"I    canna,    I    canna!"    he    asserted, 

15° 


Jess    &    Co. 

gloomily.  "But  I'll  tell  ye  aboot  it, 
Mistress  Houston,  for  I  ken  ye're  rale 
discreet,  an'  then  ye  can  decide  if  ye'll 
tell  yer  highly  respectit  aunt  for  me." 

"No,  no!  You  mustn't  tell  me,  Mr. 
Ogilvy,"  cried  Jess,  flushing.  "I'm  sure 
it's  none  of  my  business." 

"If  ye  please — " 

"Oh  no!  I  must  go  now.  David 
will  be  wondering  what's  keeping  me. 
I  was  to  call  at  the  shop  for  him. 
Good—" 

"Bide  a  wee — bide  a  wee,"  he  im- 
plored. "Ye  see,  it  wasna  till  I  got  the 
quarter's  accoont  frae  the  merchant," 
he  said,  rapidly,  "that  I  fun'  oot  I  had 
been  chairgin'  her,  for  weeks  an'  weeks, 
a  penny  a  pun  ower  muckle  for  her 
ham." 

"Her  what?" 

"Her  ham.  She's  the  boy  for  ham, 
yer  aunt!  Michty  me!  What  am  I 
sayin'  ?  I'm  shair  I  didna  mean  ony- 
thin'  disrespectfu'.  I  merely  wantit  to 
gar  ye  perceive  that,  conseederin'  the 
quantity  o'  ham  she  conshumes,  a  penny 
a  pun  mak's  a  difference  in  time.  .  .  . 
That's  a  bad  hoast  ye've  gotten,  Mis- 
tress Houston.  I'll  ha'e  to  gi'e  ye  a 
wheen  jujubes." 

"I'm  all  right  now,  thank  you,"  said 


Jess    &    Co. 

Jess ,  recovering  herself.  "Do  you  mean 
that  you  want  me  to  explain  to  my 
aunt  about  the  ham?" 

"Jist  that,  if  ye  please." 

"  But  surely  you  can  tell  her  yourself. 
She  won't  be  angry." 

"Wull  she  no'?  I  doot  it.  I  yinst 
made  a  mistak'  in  her  pass-book — it 
was  a  wee  blot  that  pit  me  wrang — I 
thocht  it  was  a  saxpence  when  I  was 
addin'  it  up,  an'  it  was  jist  a  penny — an' 
I  can  tell  ye  she  was  gey  pit  oot,  an'  I  felt 
gey  sma'.  I'm  feart  for  neither  man 
nor  beast  nor  deevil,  but  I  cudna  thole 
her  vails  o'  wrath,  as  it  were.  It  was 
jist  terrible!" 

"Was  she  not  joking?  She's  fond 
of  her  joke,  you  know." 

"'Deed,  ay;  'deed,  ay.  But  I  dinna 
think  she  was  jokin'  aboot  the  pass- 
book. Na!  As  shair's  I'm  here,  I 
hadna  the  speerit  o'  a  wulk  when  she 
was  dune  wi'  me.  .  .  .  But — but,  ye  see, 
Mistress  Houston,  ma  chief  object  o' 
askin'  ye  to — to  break  it  gently,  so  to 
speak,  is — is  that  I — I  dinna  want  to — 
to  feel  like  a  wulk  a  second  time.  Na, 
it's  no'  exac'ly  that,  either,"  corrected 
Mr.  Ogilvy,  the  beads  breaking  out  on 
his  forehead. 

"I  think  I  know  what  you  mean." 
IS2 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Dae  ye?"  he  exclaimed,  eagerly. 

"You  mean  that  you're  afraid  you 
might  get  angry  yourself  if  my  aunt  said 
much,  and  perhaps  quarrel  with  her. 
Is  that  it?" 

"N — na.  I  wudna  get  angry.  .  .  . 
Na.  That's  no'  ma  feelin',  thenk  ye 
kindly  a'  the  same.  Ma  feelin'  is  some- 
thin'  mair — aw!  hoo  can  I  describe  it? 
Eh  —  somethin'  mair  —  mair  saftlike." 
With  this  Mr.  Ogilvy  grew  so  red  in  the 
face  that  Jess  knew  her  suspicions  were 
only  too  well  founded. 

"I'll  tell  my  aunt  about  the  ham," 
she  said,  from  the  doorway.  "And  I'm 
sure  you  don't  need  to  bother  about 
that,  Mr.  Ogilvy." 

"Thenk  ye,  thenk  ye,"  he  murmured. 
"Wud  ye  mention,  think  ye,  that  ma 
feelin'  is — a — kin'  o'  saftlike?" 

But  with  a  hasty  good-bye  Jess  fled, 
and  it  cannot  be  definitely  stated  that 
she  heard  his  last  sentence. 

"Samuel  Ogilvy,"  said  the  grocer 
bitterly,  to  himself,  "there's  mair  nor 
yer  feelin'  saftlike!" 

Mrs.  Houston  pushed  open  the  door 
of  the  workshop  and  entered  with  the 
regretful  feeling  of  having  neglected  her 
husband  in  a  most  unwifelike  fashion. 


Jess    &    Co. 

"It's  yersel'!"  cried  the  joiner,  cheer- 
fully, sliding  off  a  bench  upon  which 
lay  an  unfinished  .panel,  and  folding  up 
the  last  number  of  The  Gardener's 
Chronicle. 

"I'm  sorry  I've  kept  you  waiting, 
Davie,"  she  said,  nodding  and  smiling 
to  old  Angus,  who,  after  respectfully  re- 
turning the  salutation,  seized  a  large 
plane  and  proceeded  to  trim  a  piece  of 
board  that  lay  handy,  as  if  he  had  been 
engaged  upon  it  all  afternoon. 

"Och,  ye  didna  keep  me  waitin'," 
replied  David,  as  he  placed  the  paper 
in  his  pocket.  "I  hope  ye  didna  hurry 
for  me,  Jess." 

"Of  course  I  didn't  hurry,"  she  re- 
turned, naturally  a  little  irritated. 
"But  I'm  later  than  I  said  I  would 
be." 

"Are  ye?  'Deed,  I  thocht  it  was  an 
'oor  earlier .onywey,"  said  David,  easily, 
consulting  his  old  silver  watch.  "But 
I'm  ready  for  ye,"  he  added,  flinging 
his  apron  on  the  bench  and  taking 
his  jacket  from  a  peg  in  the  wall. 

"There's  no  hurry,"  said  Jess,  the 
least  thing  coldly.  "I  can  wait  till 
you  finish  the  work  you  were  at  when 
I  came  in." 

"Oh,  I  was  jist  takin*  a  keek  at  the 


Jess    &    Co. 

Chronicle.  There's  a  fine  bit  o'  writin' 
aboot — " 

"What's  that  under  your  apron, 
David?" 

"That?  Oh,  there's  nae  hurry  for 
that.  It  '11  dae  fine  the  morn." 

"  But  you're  going  to  Mr.  Donaldson's, 
at  Corriemore,  to-morrow." 

"So  I  am.  Weel,  it  '11  dae  fine  the 
next  day.  We'll  awa'  name  noo." 

"How  long  would  it  take  you  to 
finish  that  bit  ?"  she  asked,  indicating  the 
panel. 

"No'  abin  ten  meenits." 

"Well,  do  it  now,  David,  and  I'll 
wait." 

"Na,  na.  I'm  wantin'  ma  tea,  an' 
so  are  you,  lass.  I'll  leave  word  for 
Binnie  to  feenish  it  first  thing  i'  the 
mornin'."  He  was  on  the  point  of 
telling  old  Angus  to  tell  Donald  Binnie, 
when  Mrs.  Houston  prevented  him. 

"Do  it  yourself,  David,"  she  said, 
firmly.  "What's  the  use  of  leaving 
over  a  ten  minutes'  job?" 

"Weel,"  he  said,  good-naturedly, 
hanging  up  his  coat  and  throwing  aside 
the  apron,  "when  I  come  to  think  o'  't, 
I  believe  ye're  richt — richt  as  usual." 
And  smiling  at  his  wife,  who  had  seated 
herself  on  a  stool  not  far  from  him,  he 

'55 


Jess    &    Co. 

selected  a  sheet  of  sand-paper  and  fell 
to  work. 

Old  Angus,  with  an  effort  that  racked 
his  frame,  succeeded  in  suppressing  a 
chuckle,  and,  winking  violently,  went 
on  with  his  planing,  muttering  to  him- 
self, ''She. kens  the  wey!  She  kens  the 
wey!"  over  and  over  again. 

Within  the  time  he  mentioned,  David 
blew  the  last  cloud  of  soft  dust  from  the 
panel,  and  smiled  again  at  his  wife, 
receiving  a  smile  in  response. 

"Angus,"  he  called,  as  he  donned  his 
jacket,  "ye  can  gang  noo.  What's  that 
ye're  workin'  at?" 

The  old  man  laid  down  his  tool,  stared 
for  twenty  seconds  at  his  handiwork,  and 
then  looked  over  at  his  employer.  ' '  I — 
I  doot  I've  dune  the — the  wrang  thing," 
he  stammered,  holding  up  the  board. 

Houston's  face  clouded,  and  his  lips 
tightened  for  an  instant.  "Man,  ye 
sudna  ha'e — "  he  began. 

"Davie,"  whispered  Jess,  "don't  say 
anything."  She  rose  and  crossed  the 
floor  to  where  Angus  was  standing, 
gazing  piteously  at  the  fine  wood  he 
had  spoiled,  for  his  sight  was  failing  him 
and  he  would  not  have  spectacles. 
"Angus,"  she  said,  brightly,  "that's  just 
what  I'm  wanting  for,  a  shelf  in  the 
156 


Jess    &    Co. 

kitchen.  Just  the  very  thing.  .  .  .  Isn't 
it,  Davie?"  she  asked,  looking  round 
at  her  husband. 

"But  the  wudd's  faur  ower  guid  for 
a —  "  David  was  trying  to  say,  when  he 
was  checked  by  a  second,  "Isn't  it, 
Davie?" 

"Ay,"  he  replied,  lamely.  Then  per- 
ceiving what  was  required  of  him,  he 
called  to  the  old  man:  "Ay,  Angus;  it's 
jist  what  Mistress  Houston  was  wantin'. 
It's  maybe  a  wee  thing  to  the  lang  side, 
but  ye  can  tak'  twa- three  inches  aff 
it  the  morn." 

"But  I've  dune  the  wrang  thing," 
murmured  Angus,  dejectedly. 

"I'm  glad  you  have,  Angus,"  said 
Mrs.  Houston,  cheerily,  "because  now 
I'll  get  my  shelf  sooner  than  I  expected. 
Now,  away  and  get  your  tea." 

The  old  man,  with  a  low-spoken  good- 
night, left  the  workshop,  but  ere  he 
closed  the  door  behind  him  he  looked 
back  at  Jess  with  a  benediction  in  his 
eyes,  and  all  the  way  home  he  kept 
saying  to  himself,  ' '  She  kens  the  wey — 
she  kens  the  wey." 

With  her  hand,  Jess  was  brushing  some 
powdery  wood  from  David's  waistcoat 
when  he  softly  exclaimed,  and  not 
without  difficulty: 

157 


Jess    &    Co. 

"  Ye're  an  awfu'  nice  wumman,  Jess!" 
"  I  like  to  see  you  tidy,  Davie." 
"I  didna  mean  that.  I  meant  the 
wey  ye  saved  Angus,  for  I  was  gey  wild 
at  him  for  spilin'  that  bit  wudd.  If  ye 
hadna  been  here,  I  doot  I  wud  ha'e 
lost  ma  temper.  The  wudd  was  a 
spaycial  bit  for  young  Maister  Cochrane, 
him  that's  aye  workin'  at  models — an' 
I'll  ha'e  to  send  to  the  toon  to  replace 
it." 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,  Davie." 
"  Weel,  weel,  dearie,  I'm  gled  ye  kep' 
me  frae  lossin'  ma  temper.  But  whiles 
I  ainna  ken  what  to  dae  wi'  Angus. 
He's  been  nae  use  since  the  fire,  an'  he's 
been  less  since  his  sister  dee'd.  I  wantit 
to  gi'e  him  a  kin'  o'  pension,  as  ye  ken, 
Jess,  but  I  seen  he  wud  be  offendit.  He 
said  he  wud  never  eat  the  breid  o'  idle- 
ness as  lang  as  he  was  leevin' — puir 
man! — an'  I  hadna  the  hert  to  pit  him 
awa'." 

"But  he  was  working  when  I  came 
in,"  said  Jess,  flicking  some  specks  of 
dust  from  her  husband's  jacket  collar. 

"Aw,  he  aye  stairts  to  work  when  you 
or  yer  aunt  comes  into  the  shop — for, 
ye  see,  he  winna  let  ye  think  he's  dune — 
but  he  usually  dis  the  wrang  thing,  an' 
— an'  it's  gey  provokin'  whiles." 
158 


Jess    &    Co. 

"So  it  is,  Davie.  But  can't  you  give 
him  his  own  work  to  do  ?" 

' '  Ay.  But  he  forgets  an'  turns  sleepy- 
like,  an'  forbye  that,  he  disna  see  vera 
weel.  We  maun  jist  thole  wi'  his  weys, 
an'  dae  the  best  we  can  for  him,  an'  I 
maun  keep  ma  temper  wi'  him,  for,  to 
tell  ye  the  truth,  ma  dear,  I  wudna 
like  to  see  the  shop  wantin'  him.  Weel, 
we'll  gang  noo." 

"But,"  said  Jess,  when  they  had 
started  on  the  way  home,  "how  would 
it  do  to  put  him  to  work  in  the  garden  ?" 
She  half  smiled,  unable  to  keep  from 
thinking  that  the  suggestion  was  a 
brilliant  one. 

"Na,  na!"  came  the  decided  reply. 
"The  gairden's  been  neglectit  enough 
this  while  back  wi'oot  pittin'  a  man  on 
to  it  that  wud  spile  it — ruin  it — a'the- 
gither.  I  suppose  ye  was  jist-  jokin', 
Jess?" 

"Well,  perhaps  I  was,"  she  replied, 
trying  not  to  look  disappointed. 

"I  thocht  that.  For  if  Angus  had 
been  ony  guid  at  the  gairaenin'  I  wud 
ha'e  had  him  at  it  lang  syne.  It's  a 
perfec'  he 'rt -break  to  think  o'  the  state 
the  place  has  been  in  since  the  spring." 

"Never  mind,  Davie.  You  had  a 
hard  fight,  and  you  got  the  best  of  it, 
J59 


Jess    &    Co. 

and  everybody's  proud  of  you,"  said  his 
wife,  warmly.  "  I  know  how  hard  it  has 
been  for  you." 

"Tits!  It  wasna  as  bad  as  a'  that. 
An'  I'm  shair  I  wud  never  ha'e  been 
whaur  I  am  if  it  hadna  been  for  yersel', 
ma  dear.  It's  a  peety  aboot  the  gairden, 
but  I'd  shinner  see  it  like  a  midden 
plantit  wi'  auld  tin  cans  an'  broken 
gless  nor  let  Angus  try  his  haun  at  it. 
Guidsake,  Jess,  the  puir  buddy  disna 
ken  the  difference  at  ween  a  dahlia  an' 
a  dandilion,  an'  I  doot  if  he  wud  ken  a 
crocus-bulb  f  rae  a  Spanish  ingin !  Ye  see, 
he  never  had  ony  fancy  for  gairdenin'." 

"I've  heard  him  talking  about  your 
flowers,"  Jess  remarked. 

"Oh,  ay,  he'll  talk  aboot  ony  thin'  he 
thinks  '11  please  ye,  lass.  But  maybe 
he  was  wrang  when  he  thocht  talkin' 
aboot  ma  flooers  wud  please  ye,"  said 
David,  with  a  sly  glance  at  his  wife. 

"Davie!"  she  cried,  reproachfully. 

"D'ye  ken,  I  whiles  think  ye  like  the 
gairden  better  the  wey  it  is  noo  nor  the 
wey  it  was  a  twal'month  syne.  Eh, 
Jess?" 

"Now  you're  havering!" 

"  But  ye  like  me  better  in  the  shop 
or  at  a  job  nor  in  the  gairden,"  he 
persisted. 

1 60 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I  like  you  anywhere,  lad,"  she  re- 
plied, sweetly  but  evasively. 

"  Hoo  d'ye  mean  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  explain — if 
you  can't  understand.  See!  there's  Mr. 
Ogilvy  waving  to  you." 

They  returned  the  salute  of  the  gro- 
cer, who  stood  in  his  door.  "My!  but 
they're  the  twa  happy  yins!"  he  sighed, 
as  he  watched  them  along  the  road. 

"Poor  Mr.  Ogilvy,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Houston,  gently. 

"What's  wrang  wi'  him?"  asked  her 
husband. 

"I  doubt  he's  very  bad,  Davie,"  she 
answered,  smiling  faintly.  "He  wants 
to  marry  Aunt  Wallace." 

"Has  he  no'  gotten  ower  that  yet? 
I  thocht  her  tongue  had  cured  him  lang 
syne." 

"I'm  afraid  it  hasn't — but  you're  not 
to  speak  about  aunt  like  that." 

"Och,  we  a'  ken  she's  got  a  gey 
shairp  tongue,  Jess.  I'm  no'  savin' 
onythin'  aboot  her  he'rt,  mind!"  he 
added,  seriously.  Then  he  laughed,  and 
inquired,  "D'ye  ken  why  he  wants  to 
mairry  yer  aunt,  ma  dear?" 

"He's  in  love  with  her,  of  course." 

"That's  a  sma'  bit  o'  the  reason.  He 
wants  to  mairry  her  to  get  bein'  yer 
161 


Jess    &    Co. 

uncle!  Ay,  that's  it!"  At  which  state- 
ment David  looked  pleased  with  him- 
self. 

"Don't  be  stupid!"  retorted  Mrs. 
Houston,  with  affected  sternness. 

"It's  a  fac',  though.  He's  got  an 
awfu'  high  opeenion  o'  yersel'.  D'ye 
ken  what  he  said  to  me  the  ither  day  ?" 

"No;  and  I  don't  want  to  know." 

"  He  said — " 

"Be  quiet!" 

"  Aweel,  I'll  tell  ye  anither  time  when 
ye're  no'  expectin'  it,"  said  David, 
smiling  teasingly.  "  But  hoo  d'ye  think 
he's  gettin'  on  wi'  his  coortin'?" 

Jess  shook  her  head.  "He  doesn't 
seem  extra  happy  just  now." 

"Maybe  he's  worrit  aboot  trade." 

"He  doesn't  complain  about  trade 
now  so  much  as  he  used  to." 

"That's  a  bad  sign,"  observed  David, 
thoughtfully. 

"At  least,  he  complains  more  about 
his  customers." 

"  Mphm.  He'll  be  turnin'  his  thochts 
frae  business  to — to —  The  joiner 
stuck  for  want  of  a  word  to  express 
himself.  "  But  it's  a  bad  sign,  onywey," 
he  continued.  "I  mind  when  I  used 
to  turn  frae  ma  work  on  accoont  o' 
yersel',  Jess." 

162 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Do  you  blame  it  all  on  me?"  she 
asked,  with  the  least  trace  of  irony  in 
her  tone. 

"Na,"  he  replied,  soberly.  "I  blame 
it  on  masel'.  If  I  had  peyed  mair  at- 
tention to  ma  work,  ye  wud  ha'e  been 
better  aff  the  day." 

"Whisht,  lad!"  she  said,  in  soft 
surprise.  % 

"An"  maybe  the  gairdenin'  has  been 
to  blame,  tae,"  he  went  on.  "I've 
thocht  that  whiles  lately.  But  ye  ken, 
Jess,  it's  a  great  temptation  to  me." 

"But,  Davie,  you've  hardly  touched 
the  garden  since  the  spring — since  the 
fire,"  she  said,  gently. 

David  sighed.  "Maybe  it's  jist  as 
weel.  Ma  trade's  the  jinerin',  an'  I 
maun  stick  to  it.  ...  An'  it's  no'  a  bad 
trade,  an'  things  are  gaun  weel,  an' 
I'm  no'  complainin',"  he  added,  more 
cheerfully. 

"  But  you'll  get  time  for  your  garden- 
ing soon  again,  Davie,"  she  said. 

"We'll  see,  we'll  see." 

"Oh,  but,  Davie — "  she  began,  and 
stopped,  lest  she  should  say  too  much. 

Suddenly    he    turned    towards    her. 

"  Ye're  the  best  wife  a  man  ever  had,  an' 

I  envy  naebody,"  he  exclaimed.     "The 

fire  was  maybe  a  guid  thing.     It  was 

163 


Jess    &    Co. 

a  guid  thing  because  o*  yersel',  ma 
dear." 

"But,  Davie,"  she  said,  breaking  a 
long  silence,  "supposing  the  shop  hadn't 
been  insured — " 

"I  wud  ha'e  been  dune  for.  Fine  I 
ken  that!" 

"But  wait  a  minute.  Supposing  the 
shop  hadn't  been  insured,  and  supposing 
you  hadn't  been  married — what  would 
you  have  done?" 

"That's  a  question,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Would  you  have  become  a  gar- 
dener?" 

"  Ye  mean  a  gairdener  to  some  gentle- 
men?" he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes — I  suppose  so." 

"Na!"  he  replied,  firmly. 

"Wouldn't  you?"  s.he  cried,  greatly 
surprised.  "Why?" 

"  Weel,  Jess,  if  I  was  to  be  a  gairden- 
er, I  wud  want  ma  ain  gairden.  D'ye 
see?" 

She  nodded  gravely.     "I  see,  Davie." 

"I  wud  like  a  place  like  Davison's 
nursery." 

"  I  know,"  she  murmured.  "  I  would 
like  that,  too." 

"Wud  ye,  lass?"  he  cried.  "Weel, 
it's  jist  like  ye  to  sympathize  wi'  yer 
man  even  in  his  daftlike  dreams.  But 
164 


Jess    &    Co. 

here  we  are,  an'  I'm  shair  ye're  wearyin' 
for  yer  tea." 

He  pushed  open  the  gate  of  Hazel 
Cottage,  and  they  went  up  the  path 
together,  in  the  shine  of  the  autumn 
sunset. 

"Davie,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "you're 
not  to  forget  our  garden  altogether." 

"Weel,  to  tell  ye  the  truth,"  he  re- 
turned, glancing  about  him,  "I  think 
I'll  ha'e  an  'oor  at  it  the  morn,  afore  I 
gang  to  Corriemore." 

And  Jess  smiled  quite  gladly. 

The  last  steamer  was  due  at  Kin- 
lochan  pier  about  seven  o'clock,  and 
when  Mr.  Ogilvy  sighted  her  lights  on 
the  far  side  of  the  loch,  he  proceeded 
to  behave  in  a  somewhat  extraordinary 
fashion.  His  message-boy  having  gone 
for  the  night,  the  grocer  was  alone  in 
his  shop,  yet  he  looked  about  him  as 
though  he  feared  a  watch  upon  his 
movements.  Satisfied  at  last  that  he 
was  unobserved,  he  opened  his  till  and 
took  out  a  penny,  muttering  to  himself : 

"Ye're  a  muckle  eediot,  Samuel 
Ogilvy." 

He  regarded  the  coin  for  nearly  a 
minute,  replaced  it  in  the  till  and  took 
out  half  a  crown. 

165 


Jess    &    Co. 

"It's  mair  in  keepin'  wi'  the  opera- 
tion," was  his  inward  observation. 

Just  then  a  customer  came  in,  but, 
fortunately ,  did  not  wait  long,  although 
after  her  departure  the  grocer  could  not 
remember  where  he  had  laid  the  half- 
crown. 

"I've  nae  time  to  luk  fur  it  the  noo," 
he  thought,  glancing  through  the  win- 
dow at  the  approaching  lights  of  the 
steamer. 

Having  picked  a  florin  from  the  till, 
he  gazed  at  it  earnestly  and  then 
spun  it  into  the  air.  As  it  fell  he 
grabbed  at  it  but  missed  it,  and  it 
struck  the  floor  and  rolled  under  the 
counter. 

"Tits!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'll  get  it 
the  morn." 

He  spun  a  second  florin,  and  this 
time  caught  it  between  his  palms. 

"It's  heids!"  he  murmured,  when  he 
had  lifted,  his  right  hand.  "I've  to 
gang  an'  meet  her.  Oh,  me!" 

Five  minutes  later,  as  the  steamer 
reached  the  pier,  Mr.  Ogilvy,  having 
already  put  up  the  shutters,  locked  the 
door  of  his  shop — at  least  an  hour 
before  the  usual  time — and  hastened 
along  the  road  in  the  direction  of  Mrs. 
Wallace's  abode. 

166 


Jess    &    Co. 

On  reaching  her  cottage,  he  turned 
and  walked  slowly  back  towards  the 
pier,  which  the  steamer  had  now  left. 

"She's  a  lang  time  comin',"  he  said,  to 
himself.  "Maybe  she's  no'  comin'  the 
nicht,  efter  a'.  Oh,  me!  Samuel 
Ogilvy,  ye're  jist  a  nondescript  nin- 
compoop!" 

He  retraced  his  steps  to  the  cottage, 
and  again  set  out  towards  the  pier. 
Several  people  from  the  steamer  passed 
him,  while  he  pretended  to  be  absorbed 
by  the  view  over  the  sea-wall. 

But  at  last  the  looked-for  figure  came 
dimly  in  view,  and  thereupon  Mr. 
Ogilvy  lost  his  head. 

"Oh,  I  hope  she'll  no'  see  me!"  he 
groaned,  and  gazed  steadily  across  the 
loch. 

Mrs.  Wallace  came  through  the  dusk, 
and  halted  behind  him.  "Is  that  you, 
Maister  Ogilvy?"  she  said,  and  there 
was  something  in  her  voice  that  added 
to  the  grocer's  discomfort.  "Is  that 
you,  Maister  Ogilvy?"  she  repeated, 
before  he  nerved  himself  to  turn  and 
face  her. 

"Ay,  it's  jist  me,  Mistress  Wallace.  .  .  . 
It — it's  a  fine  nicht." 

"  It  is  a  fine  nicht,"  she  replied ;  "  a  fine 
nicht  fur  plunkin'  the  shop,  Maister 
167 


Jess    &    Co. 

Ogilvy!  Whit  d'ye  mean  shtittin'  yer 
shop  afore  the  time?" 

"Was  ye  wantin'  somethin'?"  he 
stammered. 

"Ay,  wis  I!  An'  when  I  cam'  aff  the 
boat  an'  gaed  to  the  shop,  here  the  door 
was  shut,  an'  the  pairty  that  sud  ha'e 
kep'  it  open  gallivantin'  aboot  like  a 
young  yin!" 

"Aw,  mistress — " 

"Ay;  ye're  a  fine  yin  to  keep  a  shop! 
An'  me  yer  best  customer!"  cried  Mrs. 
Wallace.  "But  dinna  let  me  keep  ye 
frae  yer  app'intment,"  she  added,  with 
an  unkind  chuckle. 

"I  —  I've  nae  app'intment,  Mistress 
Wallace,"  he  returned,  desperately.  "I 
jist  cam'  oot  to — to — " 

"  Oh,  I'm  no'  wantin'  to  ken  her  name. 
We'll  be  hearin'  it  in  the  kirk  shin,  nae 
doot." 

"Ye  maun  ha'e  yer  joke,  Mistress 
Wallace,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy,  with  a  very 
feeble  grin. 

"Ay,  jist  as  you  maun  ha'e  yer  Jenny," 
retorted  his  "best  customer,"  with  an- 
other chuckle. 

The  poor  grocer  stood  speechless. 

"Weel,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace,  at  last, 
and  her  voice  was  kindly,  "  I  didna  gang 
to  the  shop  the  nicht  to  buy — but  to 
1 68 


Jess    &    Co. 

pey.  I  wantit  to  gi'e  ye  back  the  siller 
ye  lent  me  a  while  syne.  It  sud  ha'e 
been  in  yer  pooch  afore  this,  an'  I'm 
vexed  it  wisna.  But  there  it  is,  an' 
thenk  ye  fur  the  len'  o'  't." 

Taking  a  packet  from  her  underskirt 
pocket,  Mrs.  Wallace  handed  it  to  Mr. 
Ogilvy. 

"Are  ye  shair  ye're  no'  needin'  it?" 
he  asked,  awkwardly. 

"Na,  na,  man.  I'm  no'  needin'  it, 
and  I'm  glad  ye've  gotten  yer  ain  again. 
I'm  no'  guid  at  thenkin'  folk  or  peyin' 
compliments,  but  I  tell  ye  I'm  obleeged 
to  ye  fur  yer  help.  Ye  can  coont  it 
when  ye  get  name,  an'  if  ye  fin'  a 
bawbee  ower  mony  ye  can  keep  it — or 
gi'e  it  to  yer  Jenny!  Ha!  ha!  Guid- 
nicht,  Maister  Ogilvy.  I'm  wantin' 
ma  tea." 

"Mistress  Wallace !  Mistress  Wallace !" 
he  exclaimed,  as  she  moved  forward. 

"Weel,  Maister  Ogilvy?" 

"•I — I  was  jist  wantin'  to  say  that — 
that  I'm  aye  ready  an'  willin'  to  dae 
onythin'  to  serve  you  or  yours,  as  it 
were." 

"I  believe  ye,  Maister  Ogilvy,"  she 
returned.  "An'  I'll  no'  furget  whit  ye've 
dune.  An'  —  weel,  guid-nicht  again, 
Maister  Ogilvy." 

169 


Jess    &    Co. 

The  grocer  wanted  to  accompany  her, 
but  he  lacked  the  courage,  and  so  he 
turned  and  went  slowly  in  the  other 
direction.  "Samuel  Ogilvy!"  he  ad- 
dressed himself,  moodily,  "ye're  a 
peetifu'  spectacle!" 


VIII 
Some    Friends    and    an    Enemy 

ANOTHER  May  had  come,  and  the 
ii  afternoon  sunshine  fell  warmly  on 
the  south  gable  of  Hazel  Cottage. 

Old  Angus  blinked  drowsily  and 
slightly  altered  his  position  on  the 
section  of  a  log  which  served  him  for  a 
seat,  when  Mrs.  Wallace,  who  for  the 
last  half -hour  had  been  marching  up  and 
down  the  path  with  her  niece's  baby 
in  her  arms,  sat  down  on  the  low  chair 
that  had  been  brought  from  the  parlor 
for  her  convenience,  and  carefully  ad- 
justed the  infant's  garments  and  placed 
her  umbrella  in  proper  position.  Then, 
the  child  showing  signs  of  waking  up, 
Mrs.  Wallace  began  to  croon  softly  and 
persuasively,  if  not  altogether  tune- 
fully, the  ancient,  brief,  and  simple 
ditty  : 

"Shoo  shaggy  ower  the  glen, 
Mammy's  pet  an'  daddy's  hen" — 
i»  171 


Jess    &    Co. 

which   she   repeated   until   it   had   the 
desired  effect. 

"Is't  sleepin'?"  inquired  Angus,  tak- 
ing out  his  pipe  and,  having  cautiously 
removed  the  plug  of  newspaper,  peering 
regretfully  at  the  remnant  of  tobacco 
left  in  the  bowl. 

"Ay,  she's  sleepin',  the  daurlin'," 
Mrs.  Wallace  replied,  tenderly,  looking 
down  on  her  charge  and  gently  removing 
the  edge  of  the  shawl  from  the  tiny 
mouth. 

"I  was  thinkin'  ye  wud  shin  ha'e  the 
wean  suffocatit  if  ye  didna  watch  oot," 
the  old  man  remarked,  feeling  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket  for  a  match.  "It's  a 
mercy  it  doesna  need  as  muckle  breith 
as  masel'." 

"Man,  ye  wudna  need  as  muckle 
breith  if  ye  kep'  yer  mooth  shut,"  re- 
torted Mrs.  Wallace,  adding,  "Ye  waste 
the  biggest  hauf  o'  yer  breith  on  yer 
stupit  savin's." 

Angus  did  not  answer  till  he  had  lit 
his  pipe. 

"  Weel, mistress," he  said, slowly,  "it's 
no'  for  me  to  instruct  ye — 

"'Deed,  ye're  richt  there!" 

"  But  I  doot  it's  no'  gettin'  suffeecient 
fresh  air  to  gar  it  grow  nice." 

"I'll  fresh  air  ye!" 
172 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Never  mind  me.  I  can  fresh  air 
masel',  thenk  ye  kindly.  I'm  shair  ye 
wud  be  vexed  if  it  growed  up  nippit  an' 
peely-wally." 

"Peely-wally!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wal- 
lace, indignantly.  "An'  her  the  sturdi- 
est lass  that  ever —  Oh,  ye  auld  footer, 
ye've  waukened  her  again!" 

"I  dinna.  It  was  yersel',  mistress. 
Yer  v'ice  is  shairper  nor  mines." 

"Haud  yer  tongue!"  she  muttered, 
and  set  about  soothing  the  little  one 
with  croonings  and  caresses,  while 
Angus  grinned  behind  his  pipe,  at  first 
in  an  irritating,  but  presently  in  a  more 
sympathetic  manner. 

Unfortunately,  Mrs.  Wallace's  next 
remark  was  not  a  conciliatory  one. 

"Ye  micht  think  shame  o'  yersel', 
Angus,  comin'  here  an*  disturb  in'  the 
wean.  To  hear  ye  speakin',  onybody 
wud  think  ye  wis  sellin'  herrin'." 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Angus,  softly  but 
sarcastically.  "I  was  jist  thinkin' the 
noo,  mistress,  that  if  ye  kent  anither 
sang  ye  micht  try  singin'  roon'  the 
doors  when  the  simmer  veesitors  is  here. 
Eh?" 

Mrs.   Wallace  smiled  in  a  way  that 
made  the  old  man  feel  he  had  missed 
getting  the  last  word. 
173 


Jess    &    Co. 

"D'ye  no'  think  I  wud  dae  better  wi' 
a  hurdy-gurdy,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  seein' 
I've  a  monkey  there  a'ready?" 

Angus  grinned  feebly,  and  sucked  at 
his  pipe  as  if  for  inspiration. 

Mrs.  Wallace  emitted  a  low  chuckle  of 
triumph,  and  beamed  down  on  the 
sleeping  child  as  much  as  to  say, 
"We  had  him  there,  ma  dearie!" 

Angus  writhed  on  his  seat  in  his 
desire  to  pay  her  back,  and  puffed 
nervously. 

Another  low  chuckle  came  from  Mrs. 
Wallace,  and  the  old  man  writhed  again. 

"Ye  think  ye're  awfu'  smairt,"  said 
Angus,  at  last,  with  biting  irony  in  his 
tone. 

"Na,  na,"  she  returned,  modestly. 
"I  jist  try  to  suit  the  comp'ny  I'm  in. 
There  isna  ony  great  need  fur  smairtness 
the  noo,  ye  ken." 

"  Ye're  aye  thinkin'  o'  it,"  he  retorted, 
indicating  the  baby  with  the  stem  of  his 
pipe. 

"That's  somethin'  worth  thinkin'  o'," 
she  rejoined.  "  But  ye  ken  weel  enough 
she's  a  lassie,  an'  ye  needna  be  aye  re- 
ferrin'  to  her  as  it." 

"Weel,  ye  see,  mistress,  I'm  aye 
thinkin'  o'  the  peety  o'  it  bein'  a  lassie, 
that  I  canna — " 

174 


Jess    &    Co. 

"An*  whit's  wrang  wi'  it  —  I  mean 
her — bein'  a  lassie?"  Mrs.  Wallace  fierce- 
ly demanded. 

"Aw,  it's  jist  a  peety  it  wasna  a  laddie. 
If  it  had  been  a  laddie  it  micht  grow  intil 
a  man — a  dacent  man  like  its  fayther." 

"  If  she  grows  intil  a  dacent  wumman 
like  her  mither,  she'll  dae  fine!" 

"///" 

"Whit  d'ye  mean,  Angus?" 

"Jist  what  I  say." 

"D'ye  mean  she'll  no'  grow  up?" 

"Och,  she'll  grow  up,  if  she  doesna 
get  suffocatit." 

"Tah!  .  .  .  When  I  want  yer  advice 
I'll  ask  ye  fur  it." 

"I  hope  ye'll  no'  come  askin'  when 
it's  ower  late,"  he  retorted.  "Hooever, 
there's  aye  a  chance  o'  yer  niece  bringin' 
up  the  wean  in  spite  o'  ye.  We  maun 
hope  for  the  best." 

What  Mrs.  Wallace  was  going  to  reply 
— and  it  was  doubtless  something  ex- 
ceedingly crushing — was  prevented  by 
a  new  arrival. 

"Here's  Ogilvy  comin',"  said  Angus, 
looking  round  the  corner  of  the  cottage. 
"What  '11  he  be  wantin' ?" 

"Ye  best  ask  him,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace, 
shortly. 

"He's  lukin'  unco  spruce  in  his 
175 


Jess   &    Co. 

Sawbath  claes.  I  never  seen  him  dress- 
ed on  a  hauf-  holiday  afore.  ...  I  sup- 
pose I  best  tell  him  to  come  roon' 
here." 

"Ye  best  tell  him  David  and  Jess  are 
awa'  to  Kilmabeg,  an'  they'll  no'  be 
hame  till  tea-time,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"Ay.  But  I'll  tell  him  ye're  here 
yersel'.  I'll  get  him  for  a  witness  that 
ye're  suffocatin'  the  wean,  mistress." 

With  a  grin  on  his  face,  Angus  toddled 
away  to  meet  the  grocer,  who  was  com- 
ing slowly  up  the  path  towards  the 
porch.  Mr.  Ogilvy's  eyes  were  modest- 
ly turned  groundward,  and  any  one  fol- 
lowing him  would  have  seen  that  his  big 
fingers  were  working  convulsively  behind 
his  back. 

"This  is  a  fine  day,  Maister  Ogilvy," 
said  Angus. 

"Eh?  Oh,  ay,  it's  a  fine  day — a  fine 
day,"  the  other  stammered,  for  he  had 
not  expected  to  encounter  the  old  man 
at  Hazel  Cottage. 

"Yell  be  wantin'  to  see  David,  may- 
be?" said  Angus. 

' '  Ay . "  The  word  came  with  an  effort , 
and  the  grocer  said  in  his  heart,  "Samuel 
Ogilvy,  ye're  a  leear!" 

"Aweel,  ye'll  no'  see  David  the  noo. 
He's  awa'  wi'  the  wife  to  Kilmabeg. 
176 


Jess    &    Co. 

It's  queer  ye  didna  see  them  gaun  by 
the  shop,  Maister  Ogilvy." 

Mr.  Ogilvy,  his  face  on  fire,  forced  an 
incoherent  reply,  and  then,  recovering 
himself,  said,  as  carelessly  as  he  could: 
"Weel,  weel,  it  wasna  onythin'  im- 
portant. I'll  see  him  the  morn."  And 
he  made  to  depart. 

"Bide  a  wee — bide  a  wee,  Maister 
Ogilvy,"  Angus  interposed.  "Ye're  no' 
gaun  awa'  wi'oot  speakin'  to  Mistress 
Wallace.  She's  sittin'  wi'  the  wean 
roon'  the  corner.  Come  awa',  an'  ye'll 
maybe  get  dandlin'  the  wee  yin." 

"I'll  come  anither  time,  Angus.  I — 
I'm  kin'  o'  pressed  for  time,  as  it  were," 
the  grocer  returned. 

"Och,  ye  can  bide  twa-three  meenits 
— an'  tak'  a  smoke,"  said  Angus,  pleas- 
antly, looking  at  his  own  empty  pipe 
and  thinking  of  his  own  empty  tobacco- 
box. 

"Na,  I'll  no'  bide  the  day.  I  was 
thinkin'  o'  gaun  back  to  the  shop  an' 
gettin'  a  wheen  things  tidied  up,  seein' 
the  place  is  quate  an'  neabody  aboot. 
Jist  gi'e  ma  respec's  to — " 

"Ye're  shairly  no'  gaun  to  tidy  up 

things  wi'  yer  guid  claes  on?"  the  old 

fellow  interrupted.     "Come   awa',   an' 

see   Mistress   Wallace,   or   ye'll   maybe 

177 


Jess    &    Co. 

offend  her.  She  seen  ye  comin'  in  at 
the  gate." 

"Did  she?"  said  the  grocer,  feebly. 
"W — was  she  surprised  to  see  me, 
think  ye?"  he  inquired,  nervously. 

Before  Angus  could  speak,  Mrs. 
Wallace  was  heard  calling: 

"Is  that  you,  Maister  Ogilvy?" 

"Ay,  it's  jist  me,"  he  replied,  without 
moving. 

"Weel,  come  here!  I  want  to  speak 
to  ye." 

"Come  awa',"  said  Angus.  "Ye 
dinna  need  to  dandle  the  wean  unless 
ye  like.  Come  awa',  Maister  Ogilvy." 

The  grocer,  on  anything  but  flying 
feet,  followed  Angus  round  the  corner  of 
the  cottage. 

"My!  but  ye're  a  masher  the  day!" 
cried  Mrs.  Wallace,  jocularly.'  "I  sup- 
pose ye're  jist  on  yer  road  to  meet 
her?"' 

"Aw,  Mistress  Wallace,"  he  murmur- 
ed, removing  his  felt  hat  and  wiping  his 
forehead,  on  which  a  deep  red  line  was 
visible. 

"Yer  hat's  ower  wee  fur  ye,"  she 
observed,  as  he  squeezed  it  on  again. 
"Ye'll  be  daein'  yer  heid  an  injury, 
Maister  Ogilvy.  Is't  a  new  hat?" 

"Ay.  As  ve  say,  it's  ower  wee.  I 
178 


Jess    &    Co. 

got  Geordie  Harvey  to  buy  it  for  me 
when  he  was  at  the  toon,  an'  he  forgot 
ma  size  an'  had  jist  to  guess  it.  But 
I've  seen  a  waur  guess,  an'  Geordie  says 
if  I  weer  it  twa-three  Sawbaths,  it  11 
fit  like  a  glove.  I'll  thole  it  in  the 
mean  time,  onywey,  as  it  were."  Here 
Mr.  Ogilvy  stopped  abruptly,  as  one 
stops  on  suddenly  realizing  that  one  has 
been  talking  for  the  simple  sake  of 
doing  so. 

"Ye  maun  be  guid  at  the  tholin'," 
said  Mrs.  Wallace.  "Ye're  like  a  lassie 
at  a  pairty  wi'  sma'  slippers  on  big 
feet." 

"Ha-ha-ha!"  laughed  Angus.  "A 
lassie  wi'  big  feet  '11  thole  onythin'!" 

"Haud  yer  tongue,  or  ye'll  wauken 
the  baby  again.  .  .  .  Weel,  Maister 
Ogilvy,"  she  continued,  genially,  "if  it's 
no'  jist  time  fur  yer  app'intment,  ye  best 
tak'  a  sate,  an'  ha'e  a  smoke,  an'  rest 
ye,  fur  ye're  lukin'  as  if  ye  wud  melt 
an'  rin  doon  the  gairden  in  til  the  sea  like 
lava  frae  a  burnin'  mountain." 

"'Deed,  it's  uncommon  warm  for  the 
season  o'  the  year,"  said  the  grocer, 
seating  himself  on  a  stump;  "an'  to  tell 
ye  the  truth,  Mistress  Wallace,  I'm  a  wee 
bit  decomposed  wi'  the  heat." 

He  produced  his  pipe,  a  plug  of 
179 


Jess    &    Co. 

tobacco,  and  his  knife,  while  old  Angus 
ostentatiously  drew  forth  a  battered 
little  tin  box,  opened  it,  and  sighed 
absently  but  quite  audibly. 

"Are  ye  for  a  smoke,  Angus?"  Mr. 
Ogilvy  inquired  when  he  had  cut  him- 
self a  fill. 

"I'm  no'  heedin',  but  I'll  tak'  yin  jist 
to  keep  ye  comp'ny,"  said  Angus, 
obligingly,  as  he  received  the  plug  from 
the  grocer.  .  .  .  "  I'm  a  stupit  buddy,"  he 
said,  apologetically,  two  minutes  later. 
"I've  cut  ower  plenty  for  ma  pipe. 
Ha'e  ye  a  boax,  maister?" 

"Pit  it  in  yer  ain  boax,  Angus,"  re- 
turned the  other,  kindly,  although  the 
trick  was  far  from  novel. 

"Aweel,  it  wud  be  a  peety  to  waste 
it."  And  the  tobacco-box  seemed  to 
shut  with  a  snap  of  satisfaction.  Having 
set  his  pipe  agoing,  Angus  announced 
his  intention  of  departing.  "Dinna  for- 
get to  gi'e  David  the  letter  I  brocht,  an' 
dinna  suffocate  the  wean,"  he  said,  to 
Mrs.  Wallace,  offering  the  latter  in- 
struction with  a  grin. 

"Dinna  forget  to  gi'e  Maister  Ogilvy 
back  his  tobacco,"  she  retorted,  sharply. 

"I  was  jist  gaun  to  gi'e  it  back  when 
ye  spoke,"  said  Angus,  in  some  con- 
fusion, producing  the  plug  which  he  had 
1 80 


Jess    &    Co. 

dropped  into  his  pocket  along  with  the 
tobacco-box.  "Ye  sud  try  to  learn  to 
mind  yer  ain  business,  mistress,"  he 
added,  in  an  aggrieved  tone. 

"Angus  maun  ha'e  his  bit  joke,"  inter- 
posed Mr.  Ogilvy,  pacifically,  as  he  re- 
ceived his  property.  "He  has  nae 
intention  o'  insulting  ye,  as  it  were.  .  .  . 
An'  seein'  he's  gaun  along  the  road,  I'll 
jist  gang  wi'  him,"  he  said,  rising  sud- 
denly, as  if  stricken  by  a  new  fear. 

Mrs.  Wallace  smiled  unkindly.  "Is 
it  time  ye  wis  gaun  to  meet  her?"  she 
inquired.  "Of  course,  ye  mauna  keep 
her  waitin'." 

The  grocer  fairly  wriggled.  "I — I — 
I'm  no'  gaun  to  meet  onybody!"  he 
exclaimed. 

"Weel,  sit  ye  doon  an'  rest  ye,"  said 
she.  "I  want  to  speak  to  ye  aboot 
somethin',  Maister  Ogilvy,"  she  added, 
in  an  undertone. 

After  a  brief  period  of  indecision  Mr. 
Ogilvy  resumed  his  seat,  nodding  in  a 
half -shamed  fashion  to  Angus,  who, 
being  afraid  lest  Mrs.  Wallace  should 
confound  him  at  the  last  moment, 
turned  and  took  his  departure,  a  thin, 
dry  smile  hovering  about  his  lips. 

"Ye  sudna  let  him  mak'  free  wi'  yer 
tobacco,"  Mrs.  Wallace  remarked  to  the 
181 


Jess    &    Co. 

grocer.  "He's  no*  needin'  chairity  since 
his  sister  dee'd." 

"Oh,  I  ken  that  fine,  Mistress  Wal- 
lace. But,  ye  see,  it's  deefficult  to  get 
oot  o'  a  bad  habit  when  ye're  auld. 
Angus  canna  help  try  in'  to  get  his 
tobacco  for  naethin',  an'  I  canna  help 
gi'ein'  him  it.  But  I'll  no'  dae't  again 
if  ye  dinna  like  it." 

"Och,  it's  nae  odds  to  me  if  ye  wis 
gi'ein'  him  yer  hale  shope.  But  that's 
no"  the  thing  I  wis  wantin'  to  speak 
to  ye  aboot.  ...  I  wis  wantin'  to  tell  ye 
that  Angus  cam'  here  the  day  wi'  a 
story  aboot  a  new  jiner  stairtin'  in 
Kinlochan.  Ha'e  ye  heard  onythin' 
aboot  that?" 

"Ay,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy. 

"An1  whit  wey  did  ye  no'  tell  us?" 

"I  jist  heard  the — the  rumor,  so  to 
speak,  the  day.  I  was  gaun  to  speak  to 
ye  aboot  it,  if  ye  hadna  mentionedit." 

"Is  there  ony  truth  in  the  report?" 

"I  doot  there  is.  In  fac',  I  ken  there 
is.  It's  twa  young  men  frae  Paisley 
that's  gaun  to  set  up  in  Kinlochan, 
an*  I  hear  they're  vera  pushin'  young 
men." 

"I'll  push  them!"  muttered  Mrs. 
Wallace,  angrily. 

"But  ye  needna  be  feart  for  David 
182 


Jess    &    Co. 

Houston,"  Mr.  Ogilvy  continued. 
"They'll  no'  hurt  him.  He's  ower  weel 
in  wi'  the  folk  here  nooadays." 

"  I  wudna  be  ower  shair  o'  that.  Whit 
aboot  a'  the  new  hooses  that's  gaun  to 
be  builded?" 

"  I  didna  think  o'  that,"  he  admitted, 
slowly.  "Na;  I  didna  think  o'  that. 
The  jiner-work  there  '11  be  a  fine  big 
job.  I  wudna  like  to  see  it  gaun  by 
David.  ...  D'ye  think  he's  heard  aboot 
the  opposeetion,  as  it  were,  Mistress 
Wallace?" 

"Na;  he  hasna  heard  yet.  Him  an' 
Jess  gaed  aff  the  day  as  blithe  an'  brisk 
as  bees,  like  a  pair  o'  young  yins — jist 
like  a  lad  an'  lass  afore  they're  mairrit." 

"Ye  mean,  I  preshume,  that  they  gaed 
aff  in  a  licht-hertit  condeetion?" 

' '  Ye  preshume  richt.  I  'm  shair  David 
had  nae  word  o'  the  business.  Angus 
got  it  frae  a  man  wha  heard  it  frae  the 
factor." 

"I  heard  it  frae  the  factor  hissel'. 
It  was  only  fixed  this  mornin'.  But  I 
thocht  David  micht  ha'e  got  wind  o'  't. 
I  suppose  ye '11  tell  him  when  he  comes 
hame?" 

"I'll  see.  I  wis  thinkin'  ye  micht 
tell  him  yersel'." 

"Me?  Aw,  Mistress  Wallace!  I'm 
'83 


Jess    &    Co. 

no'  the  yin  to  break  bad  news.  I  canna 
dae  it  in  a  cheery  enough  style.  Ma 
disposeetion  is  ower  melancholical,  an' 
I  mak'  the  bad  news  seem  waur  nor 
it  really  is.  I  mind  when  John  Cam- 
eron's wife  ran  awa' — eloped,  as  it  were 
— wi'  a  man  o'  the  name  o'  McMeekin, 
a  brass-feenisher  to  trade,  an'  I  was 
deputit  to  inform  John  o'  the  distress- 
in'  occurrence.  I  was  near  chokit  wi' 
emotion,  an'  it  was  wi'  a  supreme  effort 
that  I  produced  the  unseasonable  in- 
formation. But  when  I  had  feenished, 
John  Cameron  jist  drew  a  lang  breith, 
an"  a'  he  said  was:  'An'  what  are  ye 
groanin'  aboot,  Ogilvy?'  ...  I'm  tellin' 
ye  this,  Mistress  Wallace,  to  illustrate 
the  fac'  that,  wi'  ma  melancholical 
disposeetion,  I'm  inclined  for  to  mak' 
bad  news  waur  nor  it  really  is — to 
exaggerate  it,  as  it  were." 

"I  ken  ye're  a  kin'  o'  dismal  buddy," 
said  Mrs.  Wallace,  agreeably,  "but  seein' 
ye've  brocht  guid  news  to  David  noo  an' 
then,  I  thocht  ye  wud  be  the  best  yin 
to  bring  the  bad  news." 

"Wud  it  no'  be  best  to  say  naethin', 
an'  jist  let  David  fin'  it  oot  for  hissel'  ?" 

"Na,  na!  I'm  thinkin'  it's  the  new 
hooses  that's  bringin'  the  new  jiners  to 
Kinlochan — a  big  job  like  that  wud  be 
184 


Jess    &    Co. 

a  fine  stairt  fur  them — an'  the  shinner 
David  gets  his  word  in  wi'  the  con- 
tractor, the  better.  I  jist  hope  he's  no' 
ower  late  as  it  is.  .  .  .  Hoo  dae  ye  think 
David  wud  staun'  opposeetion  ?"  she 
inquired,  suddenly. 

Mr.  Ogilvy  rubbed  his  chin  medita- 
tively. 

"D'ye  think  it  wud  mak'  him  strive 
mair?"  his  companion  asked. 

Mr.  Ogilvy  ceased  rubbing  his  chin, 
and  took  to  scratching  his  nose  gently 
with  his  middle  finger.  "Is  he  no' 
strivin'  the  noo?"  he  said,  at  last. 

Mrs.  Wallace  shook  her  head.  "The 
gairden's  got  the  haud  o'  him  again,  an' 
furbye  that  he's  sae  ta'en  up  wi'  this 
wee  daurlin'" — she  looked  down  at  the 
infant  —  "that  whiles  Jess  canna  get 
him  oot  the  hoose  till  ten  i'  the  morn- 
in'." 

"It's  no'  a  great  sin  to  be  ta'en  up 
wi'  his  dochter,"  the  grocer  observed. 

"I  didna  say  it  wis,  Maister  Ogilvy, 
but  it  wull  be  a  sin  if  her  an'  Jess  ha'e 
to  suffer  i'  the  future,"  Mrs.  Wallace 
returned,  solemnly.  She  patted  the 
child  tenderly,  and  continued:  "I  think 
a  man's  the  queerest  thing  in  the  hale 
o'  creation.  I've  leeved  a  lang  while 
noo,  an' — " 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Ye're  no'  that  auld,"  put  in  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  gallantly. 

"Haud  yer  tongue,  please!  I  wis 
sayin'  I've  leeved  a  lang  while  noo;  an' 
I've  met  twa  sorts  o'  whit  ye  micht  ca' 
honest,  dacent,  guid  men — an'  I  wudna 
like  to  say  which  is  the  warst  o'  the  twa. 
There's  the  man  that  aye  pits  his  busi- 
ness afore  his  wife  an'  weans,  an'  there's 
the  man  that  aye  pits  his  wife  an' 
weans  afore  his  business.  I've  never 
seen  a  man  yet  that  kent  hoo  to  divide 
hissel'." 

"Nae  man  can  serve  twa  maisters," 
remarked  Mr.  Ogilvy,  seriously. 

"Nae  man  sud  try  it,"  she  returned. 
"A  man  sud  be  his  ain  maister." 

"In  theory,  as  it  were." 

"Na!  In  practice,  as  it  is.  Theory's 
a'  richt  efter  a  man's  deid.  Ye  dinna 
buy  a  man  wi'  wages :  ye  buy  his  wark ; 
he  disna  sell  hissel'  to  his  wife  an'  weans: 
he  lends  hissel'  as  lang  as  he  has  the 
richt  an'  micht  to  dae  it.  At  least, 
that's  the  wey  it  sud  be." 

"Ay;  but  that's  jist  theory,  if  ye'll 
excuse  me  for  sayin'  it,  Mistress  Wal- 
lace." 

"I'll  excuse  ye,  fur  I  ken  ye  canna 
help  bein'  a  blether,  Maister  Ogilvy.  I 
never  met  a  man  yet  that  didna  gas 
1 86 


Jess    &    Co. 

aboot  theories  when  he  hadna  the  sense 
or  the  spunk  to  practise  whit  he  kent 
in  his  hert  wis  the  richt  thing  to  dae." 

"Ye 're  vera  severe  on  man,"  said 
Mr.  Ogilvy,  mopping  his  brow.  "Man 
is  but  mortal,"  he  added,  in  dignified 
apology. 

"An"  mortal  stupit  furbye!  Tak'  aff 
that  hat  afore  it  gi'es  ye  some  affliction 
o'  the  brain." 

Mr.  Ogilvy  removed  his  hat,  not  with- 
out a  grimace,  and  laid  it  on  the  ground 
against  the  stump  on  which  he  was 
seated. 

"I  doot  ye're  markit  fur  life,"  said 
Mrs.  Wallace.  "Disfeegured  through 
yer  ain  consate.  Eh?" 

Smiling  ruefully,  the  grocer  rubbed 
his  suffering  forehead.  "I  doot  I'll 
ha'e  to  get  anither  hat,  efter  a',"  he  said. 

"Either  that  or  anither  heid,"  said 
Mrs.  Wallace.  "But  that's  no'  the 
p'int  we  wis  speakin'  aboot,  Maister 
Ogilvy,"  she  went  on,  becoming  serious. 
"Ye  ken  whit  I  mean." 

"Ay;  ye -mean  Man.  Ye  wis  speakin' 
aboot  Man,  Mistress  Wallace." 

"Tits!  Ye're  haverin'!  That  wisna 
a  p'int.  Man's  o'  nae  consequence.  I 
meant  the  business  aboot  the  new 
jiners." 

'3  187 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Oh,  ay." 

"An"  I  want  ye  to  tell  David  the 
nicht,  Maister  Ogilvy.  Ye'll  obleege 
me  greatly  if  ye  tell  him  secret-like,  fur 
I'm  no'  wantin'  Jess  to  be  vexin'  hersel' 
aboot  it.  She's  got  plenty  to  think 
aboot  the  noo  wi'oot  a  big  trouble  like 
this.  .  .  .  Jess  is  no'  jist  as  weel  as  I 
wud  like  to  see  her." 

"  Is  she  no'  ?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ogilvy,  in 
a  voice  of  deep  concern,  if  not  alarm. 

"Oh,  I  dinna  think  it's  onythin' 
serious,  but  she  needs  to  tak'  care  o' 
hersel'.  Dinna  say  a  word  to  her  or 
onybody  else  aboot  it." 

"I'll  never  open  ma  mooth!  But  she 
was  fine  an'  rosy  the  last  time  I  seen 
her." 

"Rid  cheeks  isna  everythin'.  Jess 
has  ower  big  a  he'rt  fur  her  body, 
an'  she — " 

"Oh,  me!  Ye  dinna  mean  that, 
Mistress  Wallace?"  he  cried,  looking 
shocked. 

"Man,  man,  of  course  I  dinna  mean 
there's  onythin'  wrang  wi'  her  he'rt,  or 
her  body  either,"  said  the  other,  sharply. 
"I  mean  that  she's  aye  fashin'  hersel' 
an'  vexin'  hersel'  aboot  David's  affairs 
as  weel  as  her  ain — no'  but  whit  she  has 
a  richt  to  ken  aboot  his  affairs.  But 
188 


Jess    &    Co. 

nooadays  she's  plenty  o'  her  ain  to  keep 
her  busy,  mind  an'  body;  an'  whiles  I 
wud  like  to  gi'e  David  a  hint,  but  I've 
never  managed  it  yet.  It's  no'  often 
I  canna  tell  a  man  whit  I  think,  but — " 

"  'Deed,  that's  truth!"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy, 
quite  involuntarily. 

"But,"  she  continued,  ignoring  the 
remark,  "if  I  wis  tellin'  David,  he  wud 
be  that  pit  aboot  that  I  doot  he  wud 
speak  to  Jess,  an'  maybe  frichten  her 
an'  mak'  her  waur  nor  she  is." 

"I  see,  I  see, "he said, sympathetically. 
"Weel,  Mistress  Wallace,  I'll  speak  to 
David  aboot  the  new  jiners  the  nicht, 
an'  I'll  drap  a  hint  for  him  no'  to 
mention  onythin'  to  Mistress  Houston  in 
the  mean  time.  I'll  tell  him  to  wait 
till  he  gets  the  job  for  the  new  hooses,  an' 
then  gi'e  her  a  fine  surprise." 

"Yer  hat  hasna  sp'iled  yer  heid  efter 
a',  Maister  Ogilvy,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace, 
graciously.  "Of  course,  Jess  is  boun' 
to  hear  o'  the  new  jiners  afore  lang,  but 
the  langer  we  can  keep  it  frae  her  the 
better.  But  I  wisht  —  I  wisht  David 
hadna  stairtit  the  gairdenin'  again.  I 
hear  folk  complainin'  aboot  him  no' 
peyin'  attention  to  his  business." 

"Aw,  weel,  the  man  maun  ha'e  his 
recreation,  as  it  were.  An'  I  dinna 
189 


Jess    &    Co. 

think  Mistress  Houston  liket  him  gi'ein' 
up  his  gairdenin'  a'thegither.  An'  nae 
doot  the  news  o'  the  opposeetion  '11  gar 
him  pit  his  best  fit  furrit." 

"  Ye're  rale  tender  wi'  ither  folk's  fail- 
in 's,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace,  half-mockingly. 

"I've  kent  David  Houston  since  he 
was  a  laddie,"  said  the  grocer,  after  a 
pause,  "an*  I  never  kent  him  dae  ony- 
thin'  that  wasna  fair  an'  kind.  He 
never  done  a  dirty  trick,  or  behaved 
shabby  to  onybody;  an'  when  he  does, 
it  '11  be  time  enough  for  me  to  fin' 
fau't  wi'  him." 

"Weel,  weel,"  she  said,  her  voice 
softening,  "I  ken  ye  fur  a  guid  freen', 
Maister  Ogilvy,  baith  to  David  an' 
masel'." 

Mr.  Ogilvy  bowed  his  head  and  sat 
silent,  his  hands  tightly  clasped  be- 
tween his  knees.  "Samuel  Ogilvy,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "can  ye  no'  speak?" 

"An"  I  hope,"  resumed  Mrs.  Wallace, 
"ye'll  be  a  guid  freen'  to  this  wee  lassie 
here  when  she  grows  up  a  bit.  I  ken  ye 
like  weans." 

"Ay,"  he  said,  simply.  .  .  .  Presently 
an  idea  occurred  to  him,  and  he  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  small  package.  "It's 
for  her,"  he  said,  indicating  the  child, 
and  handing  the  package  to  the  nurse. 
190 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Whit's  this?"  inquired  the  latter. 

"Oh,  jist  a  wheen  jujubes,  Mistress 
Wallace." 

"Jujubes?" 

"Ay.  They're  the  finest  in  ma  shop, 
an'  they  wudna  hurt  the  maist  delicate 
digeestion.  Ye  micht  gi'e  her  yin  when 
she  waukens!" 

"Jujubes?"  cried  Mrs.  Wallace  again, 
and,  in  spite  of  an  effort  to  the  con- 
trary, she  broke  into  merriment. 

The  grocer  stared  foolishly. 

"Oh,  Maister  Ogilvy,"  she  said,  at 
last,  "ye  maun  excuse  me,  but  ye  canna 
gi'e  jujubes,  or  ony  ither  sweeties,  till  a 
wean  that  isna  lower  month  auld— 
Oh,  dear  me!  I  canna  help  lauchin'." 

"  But  she'll  shin  be  fower  month  auld, 
an'  the  jujubes  '11  keep  fine,  if  they 
dinna  get  damp.  An'  if  they  spile,  I'll 
bring  fresh  yins. "  There  was  the  slight- 
est trace  of  offended  feeling  in  his  voice. 

Mrs.  Wallace  recovered  herself  and 
explained  the  position.  "An*  it  wis 
rale  nice  o'  ye  to  think  o'  bringin"  the 
jujubes  fur  this  wee  lassie,  Maister 
Ogilvy,"  she  said,  in  conclusion. 

"I'm  a  stupit   buddy,"  he   groaned. 
"But — but   it's   ma   misfortune    to — to 
be    a    single    man.     I — I — I     wisht    I 
wasna!"  he  suddenly  gasped. 
191 


Jess    &    Co. 

\    •* 

"  If  ye're  no'  wantin'  the  jujubes  back, 
I'll  keep  them  masel',"  said  Mrs. 
Wallace,  calmly. 

"Thenk  ye,  thenk  ye,"  he  stammered. 
"  I'll  be  prood  if  ye'll  accept  the  jujubes. 
An' — an' — wud  ye — wud  ye  no'  accept 
— a — a — onythin'  else,  as  it  were?" 
Beads  formed  upon  his  brow,  and  speech 
failed  him. 

"Toots!  Maister  Ogilvy,  I'm  no'  a 
great  sweety  eater,  thenk  ye  a'  the 
same.  But  it's  time  the  wee  lassie  wis 
gaun  inside  the  hoose,"  she  said,  rising. 
"Ye  better  tak'  yer  smoke  till  David 
and  Jess  get  hame.  They'll  no'  be  lang 
noo.  Ye'll  bide  to  yer  tea,  Maister 
Ogilvy?" 

"  Na,  thenk  ye.  I — I  dinna  think  I'll 
bide  the  night." 

"But  ye've  got  to  see  David,  onywey." 

"I  forgot.  .  .  .  Weel,  I'll  bide,  thenk 
ye. ' '  He  fumbled  for  his  pipe,  keeping  his 
eyes  on  the  ground  the  while,  and  Mrs. 
Wallace  with  her  charge  moved  away. 

Had  he  looked  he  would  have  seen 
that  her  eyes  were  very  kindly,  although 
her  lips  were  shut  even  more  firmly  than 
usual. 

About  nine  o'clock  Mrs.  Wallace  and 
Mr.  Ogilvy  left  Hazel  Cottage  together. 
192 


Jess    &    Co. 

"  Guid-nicht !"  they  both  called,  as  they 
turned  from  the  gate,  after  which  they 
proceeded  at  least  a  furlong  in  gloomy 
silence. 

"Hoo  did  David  come  to  ken  aboot 
it?"  said  the  grocer,  at  last. 

"  It  wis  the  letter  that  Angus  brocht," 
she  replied,  shortly. 

"Wha  was  it  frae?" 

"The  contractor,  or  whitever  ye  ca' 
him.  It  saved  ye  breakin'  the  bad 
news,  onywey,"  she  said,  rather  bit- 
terly. 

"D'ye  think  I  was  glad  for  that, 
Mistress  Wallace?"  he  asked,  quickly 
but  quietly. 

"Na,  na,  Maister  Ogilvy.  But  I'm 
vexed  at  David  Houston.  Ay,  an'  I'm 
angry  at  him  furbye.  I  wis  near  cuffin' 
his  lugs  when  he  passed  the  letter  to 
Jess,  sayin',  'There's  a  love-letter  fur 
ye,  ma  lass,'  an'  lauchin'  as  if  the  hale 
thing  wis  a  joke.  If  he  had  seen  her 
face  when  she  gaed  ower  to  the  winda 
to  read  it — "  Mrs.  Wallace  stopped  with 
a  sigh,  which  her  companion  echoed. 

"But  ye  kin'  o'  lauched  yersel',"  he 
said,  presently.  "An'  ye  cried  oot  that 
ye  wud  maybe  get  the  lock  pit  on  yer 
coal-cellar  door  noo." 

"That  wis  jist  to  keep  Jess  frae 
193 


Jess    &    Co. 

breakin'  doon.  Yer  no'  vera  quick  at 
the  up-tak',  Maister  Ogilvy." 

"Maybe  I'm  no',"  he  admitted.  "An' 
I  wisht  I  kent  the  meanin'  o'  the  hale 
business.  It's  a  mystejy  to  me.  What 
did  the  contractor  mean  in  writin'  to 
tell  David  that  he  needna  bother  try  in' 
for  the  job,  as  it  had  a'  been  arranged  wi' 
the  new  jiners.  There's  some  thin'  gey 
queer  aboot  it.  I  wunner  wha's  buildin' 
the  hooses.  It's  naebody  in  Kinlochan, 
or  I  wud  ha'e  heard  lang  syne.  It  was- 
na  fair,  no'  gi'ein'  David  his  chance. 
There's  naebody  can  touch  him  for  guid 
work.  ' 

"Ye  micht  try  an'  fin'  oot  wha's 
buildin'  the  hooses  the  morn,"  said  Mrs. 
Wallace,  whose  spirits  were  sinking 
lower  and  lower. 

"I'll  fin'  oot  the  nicht!  I'll  fin'  oot 
the  noo,  if  I  can.  Here's  the  manse,  an' 
I'll  speir  at  the  meenister.  I  mind  yinst 
seein'  him  crackin'  wi'  a  strange  man 
that  was  measurin'  the  grun'  for  the  new 
hooses.  Jist  bide  a  meenit,  Mistress 
Wallace,  till  I  rin  up  to  the  door  an' 
prosecute  inquiries,  as  it  were." 

He  was  not  long  absent,  and  he  re- 
turned somewhat  short  of  breath,  but 
able  to  pant: 

"There's  twa-three  gentlemen  in  the 
194 


Jess    &    Co. 

business,  but  the  chief  yin  is  a  Maister 
Dobbie  in  Glesca.  He's  in  the  gless 
trade.  Eh?  Whit's  wrang,  Mistress 
Wallace?" 

"Everything"  she  groaned,  throwing 
up  her  hands.  "Ma  puir  Jess!" 

"What  ha'e  I  said — what  ha'e  I  said  ?" 
cried  the  grocer. 

Mrs.  Wallace  became  suddenly  calm. 
"Never  heed  the  noo,  Maister  Ogilvy; 
I'll  maybe  tell  ye  anither  time." 

Mr.  Ogilvy  nodded  gently,  and  noth- 
ing more  was  said  till  they  reached  Mrs. 
Wallace's  gate.  "It's  no'  that  I  canna 
trust  ye,"  she  said,  abruptly;  "I'll  tell 
ye  a'  aboot  it  the  morn,  if — if  I  can." 

"Mistress  Wallace,"  he  returned,  in  a 
solemn  whisper,  "I'm  aye  at — at  yer 
service,  as  it  were." 


IX 

Figures,  but   Not   All   Dry 

IN  the  garden,  David  Houston,  bending 
over  a  beautifully  kept  plot  of  choice 
pansies,  whistled  softly  his  intense 
satisfaction.  "I've  never  done  better," 
was  his  thought,  by  which  he  meant 
that  he  had  never  done  so  well. 

In  the  parlor  his  wife,  bending  over 
the  page  of  a  neatly  kept  ledger,  sighed 
and  murmured,  "If  I  could  only  tell 
him  some  things  without  telling  him 
everything!" 

In  the  cradle  by  her  side  her  baby 
stirred  slightly,  but  did  not  waken. 
Her  face  lightened  as  she  stooped 
towards  the  child;  then,  as  she  rose 
again,  her  mouth  took  on  an  expression 
of  determination. 

She  left  the  table  and  went  quietly 
to  the  window.  For  a  brief  space  she 
watched  her  man  working  steadily  and 
happily  in  the  summer  even-shine. 
"Oh,  Da  vie,"  she  whispered  to  herself, 
196 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I'm  afraid,  I'm  afraid.  ...  If  you  had 
only  left  your  heart's  desire  till  it  was 
ready — till  you  were  able  to  take  it  and 
keep  it.  ...  Perhaps  it's  my  fault. 
Perhaps  I've  taken  too  much  on  my- 
self. But  how  could  I  explain  every- 
thing now?  You  would  never — " 

David  straightened  himself  in  order 
to  get  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  plot, 
and  caught  sight  of  his  wife  at  the 
window.  He  nodded,  smiled,  pointed 
proudly  at  his  pansies,  and  beckoned 
her  to  him.  She  smiled  faintly  in  re- 
turn, shook  her  head,  and  signed  to 
him  to  come  in-doors. 

He  came  at  once,  and  entered  the 
parlor  gayly  and  eagerly.  "Was  ye 
wantin'  me  to  tak'  the  wee  yin  for  a 
while?"  he  whispered.  "I'll  jist  wash 
ma  hauns,  an'  then  I'll — "  • 

"No,  no,  Davie,"  said  Jess,  gently, 
loving  him  more  for  his  warm,  fatherly 
affection,  "Katie's  sleeping  sound.  But 
I've  been  having  a  look  at  the  books, 
and  I — I  wanted  to  ask  you  about 
something." 

"Jist  that,  lass,"  he  returned,  agree- 
ably, trying  not  to  look  disappointed. 
"Weel,  I'll  shin  be  feenished  ootbye, 
an'  then  we'll  ha'e  a  crack  aboot  the 
books.  Come  awa'  for  a  meenit  an' 
197 


Jess    &    Co. 

see  the  pansies  that  '11  lift  the  first  prize 
at  the  show  on  Setturday.  Come  awa', 
Jess — jist  for  a  meenit.  Ye're  no'  gaun 
ootbye  enough  the  noo.  Never  heed 
the  books.  They'll  keep." 

"They  won't  keep  themselves,"  she 
said,  good-humoredly.  "But  I  want 
to  know  one  thing  before  you  go  out 
again,  Davie,"  she  went  on,  seriously^ 

"What's  that?" 

"Have  you  given  Donald  Binnie 
notice?" 

"No"  yet,  dearie,"  he  replied,  a  little 
uncomfortably. 

"Why,  Davie?  You  said  you  were 
going  to  tell  him  more  than  a  week 
ago." 

"Ay.  But  —  but,  ye  see,  Jess,  I 
hadna  the  hert  to  tell  him.  He's  a 
dacent  man,  Donald  Binnie,  an'  he's 
served  me  weel  since  he  cam'  to  Kin- 
lochan." 

"I  know  that,"  she  freely  allowed. 
"  But  there's  no  work  for  him  just  now, 
is  there?" 

"Weel,  there's  no'  muckle,  to  tell  ye 
the  truth,  lass,"  he  admitted,  slowly, 
adding,  more  cheerfully:  "  But  ye  never 
can  tell  when  the  work  '11  come  again. 
An'  Donald  Binnie's  a  dacent  man.  I 
wud  be  vexed  to  ha'e  to  tell  him  I  didna 
198 


Jess    &    Co. 

need  him  ony  mair.     I  wud  that,  Jess. 
An'  ye  like  him  fine  yersel' — dae  ye  no'  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do,  David.  .  .  .  But  tell 
me — what  has  Donald  done  to-day? 
What  was  there  for  him  to  do  ?" 

"Weel,  ye  see,  it  was  kin'  o'  slack 
at  the  shop  an'  I  jist  tell't  him  he  micht 
tak'  a  day  aff." 

"Oh!  But  you  gave  him  a  day  off 
yesterday,  didn't  you?"  said  Mrs.  Hous- 
ton, keeping  calm  with  an  effort. 

"So  I  did,"  he  replied,  somewhat 
ruefully. 

For  ten  seconds  Jess  held  her  tongue. 
Then  very  gently  she  asked: 

"Could  you  not  do  all  the  work 
that's  going  just  now  yourself,  Davie?" 

"Ay.  .  .  .  Ay;  I  daur  say — if  I  was 
neglectin'  the  gairden,"  he  said,  thought- 
fully. 

"But  if  you  started  earlier  in  the 
morning?" 

"What  about  the  wee  yin  ?" 

His  wife  laughed  against  her  better 
judgment.  "  Is  it  you  that  holds  Katie, 
or  Katie  that  holds  you  in  the  morn- 
ings?" 

"Weel,  weel,  dearie,  ye  ken  it's  rale 
nice  to  ha'e  the  wee  yin  in  yer  arms," 
he  said,  half  laughingly,  half  apologeti- 
cally, as  he  bent  over  the  cradle. 
199 


Jess    &    Co. 

She  was  disarmed  for  a  moment,  but 
a  glance  at  the  ledger  on  the  table  was 
sufficient  to  bring  her  back  to  action. 

"David,"  she  said,  firmly.  "You 
must  give  Donald  notice  on  Saturday." 

"The  wee  yin's  fine  at  the  sleepin'.  .  .  . 
Eh?  What  was  ye  sayin',  lass?" 

' '  I  said  you  must  give  Donald  notice 
on  Saturday.  Promise!" 

"But — but  I'll  be  awa'  at  the  show 
on  Setturday,  an'  so  wull  you,  Jess." 

' '  Then  you  must  tell  him  on  Friday — 
to-morrow.  Do  you  know,  David," 
she  continued,  solemnly,  "that  for 
weeks  you've  been  paying  Donald  more 
than  you've  been  making  yourself?" 

Houston  stared.  "Is  that  a  fac' ?" 
he  exclaimed. 

"Last  week  his  wages  were  twice 
what  '11  come  to  you." 

"Mercy  on  us!  Is  that  what  the 
book  says?" 

"Yes.  But  I  told  you  awhile  ago 
that  you  couldn't  afford  to  keep 
Donald." 

"I  ken,  I  ken.  .  .  .  I'm  a  stupit  man 
an'  ill  to  dae  wi'.  .  .  .  But  I'll  see  aboot 
gi'ein'  Donald  notice.  It's  a  peety,  for 
he's  a  dacent  man,  an' — " 

"You'll  tell  him  to-morrow?" 

"Ay;  I'll  likely  see  him  the  morn — 
200 


Jess    &    Co. 

if  he  doesna  tak'  anither  day  aff.  I 
tell't  him  he  didna  need  to  come  in  the 
morn  unless  he  had  naethin'  better  to 
dae.  He's  got  a  lass  at  Fairport,  ye 
ken.  But  it's  like  rain  the  nicht,  an'  I 
think  he'll  be  back  the  morn's  mornin'. 
Are  ye  no'  pleased,  Jess?" 

Mrs.  Houston  hesitated,  but  was  not 
lost.  "Davie,"  she  said,  calmly,  "sit 
down  there."  She  indicated  the  chair 
she  had  vacated  some  little  time  ago. 

David  smiled  inquiringly,  but  sat 
down. 

She  laid  a  sheet  of  note-paper  and  a 
pen  before  him,  placed  the  ink  bottle  in 
position,  and  said: 

"Dear  lad,  will  you  do  me  a  great 
favor?" 

"What's  that,  Jess?" 

"Something  that  '11  do  neither  of  us 
any  harm.  Say  you'll  do  it." 

He  picked  up  the  pen,  dipped  it,  and 
looked  down  at  the  paper.  Then  he 
looked  up  at  his  wife. 

"Ye 're  a  great  wumman,  Jess,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  affectionate  amuse- 
ment. "An'  what  am  I  to  say  to  that 
dacent  man  Donald  Binnie?" 

"Just  the  truth,"  she  replied,  with 
sudden  relief.  "The  truth  that  we — 
that  you  can't  afford  to  keep  him  on." 
201 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Mphm.  That's  the  truth,  as  ye 
say,  Jess,  an'  mair's  the  peety.  If  we 
had  got  the  jiner  work  o'  thae  new 
hooses  o'  Debbie's,  I  wudna  ha'e  needit 
to—" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  his  wife,  hurriedly, 
turning  to  the  window  and  gazing  at 
the  loch.  "But  that  wasn't  your  fault, 
Davie." 

"I  wisht  I  was  shair  o'  that,  lass. 
I've  heard  talk  o'  Maister  Bobbie 
ha'ein'  a  spite  at  me,  an'  I  canna  un- 
nerstan'  it,  for  I  never  did  onythin' 
to  him,  excep'  maybe  tak'  a  bit  extra 
credit  noo  an'  then.  It  was  hissel' 
closed  the  accoont,  ye  mind.  But — " 

"Write  your  letter,  Davie,  like  a 
good  lad,"  she  interposed,  without  turn- 
ing her  head.  "I  want  to  get  at  the 
books  again,  and  I  suppose  you  want  to 
get  back  to  the  garden  before  it's  dark.. 
.  .  .  I  —  I'm  proud  of  your  pansies, 
Davie.  .  .  .  But  you — you  won't  let  Mr. 
Dobbie  or  any  one  else  beat  you,  will 
you?" 

"Nae  fears!"  cried  David,  right  cheer- 
fully. "Ha'e  ye  anither  bit  paper? 
I've  made  a  muckle  blot  on  this  bit,  an' 
I'm  no'  wantin'  to  add  insult  to  injury 
when  I'm  dismissin'  a  dacent  man." 

Mrs.  Houston  placed  a  fresh  sheet  of 
202 


Jess    &    Co. 

note-paper  before  her  husband,  who, 
having  made  up  his  mind  to  the  dis- 
agreeable but  necessary  piece  of  cor- 
respondence, applied  his  hard  hand  and 
soft  heart  to  the  same  without  delay. 

"Jess!"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  had 
closed  and  addressed  it. 

"Well,  Da  vie?" 

"It's  no'  a  vera  nice  like  letter  for  a 
lad  to  fin'  waitin'  on  him  when  he  comes 
hame  frae  seem'  his  lass.  Is  it?" 

Jess  looked  sympathetic.  "No,  it 
isn't,  Davie.  But  what  can  we  do? 
You're  paying  old  Angus  for  doing 
nothing,  and  you  can't  afford  to  pay 
Donald,  too.  Besides,  Donald's  a  clever 
lad,  and  he'll  soon  get  another  place. 
If  I  thought  old  Angus  would  get  an- 
other place,"  she  added,  with  a  kindly 
little  laugh,  "I  would  advise  you  to 
part  with  him." 

"Puir  auld  Angus!  I  ken  ye  wudna 
pairt  wi'  him  yersel',  Jess!" 

"Well,  perhaps  not.  But  sometimes 
I  can't  help  feeling  cross  with  him.  He 
talks  as  if  you  couldn't  do  without  him 
— as  if  the  business  was  kept  going 
by  him.  And  he  never  does  a  thing, 
except  when  Aunt  Wallace  or  I  come 
into  the  shop,  and  then  he  pretends  he's 
working  hard." 

14  203 


Jess    &    Co. 

"An'  whiles  does  the  wrang  thing," 
remarked  David,  laughing.  "But  he 
did  his  work  in  his  time,  an'  there  '11 
be  a  place  for  him  in  the  shop  as  lang  's 
the  shop's  mines.  But  he's  changed  a 
lot  since  the  fire." 

' '  He's  got  much  older  looking.  Is  that 
what  you  mean  ?" 

"Ay.  But  he's  changed  mair  nor 
that.  He's  aye  pretendin'  he's  hard 
up." 

"Well,  he's  not  too  well  off,  is  he, 
Da  vie?" 

"He's  gettin'  the  same  wage  as  he 
used  to  get,  an'  he  hasna  his  puir  sister 
to  keep  noo.  An'  yet  he's  aye  jist 
gaspin'  for  his  siller  on  Setturdays,  an' 
Ogilvy  was  tellin'  me  the  ither  day  that 
he  winna  tak'  meat  even  on  the  Saw- 
bath,  an'  that  he's  waur  nor  ever  at  his 
trick  o'  gettin'  a  smoke  for  naethin'. 
Ogilvy  thinks  he's  becomin'  a  miser  in 
his  auld  age." 

"A  miser?     Surely  not!" 

"Weel,  I'm  jist  tellin'  ye,  lass.  But 
miser  or  nae  miser,  Angus  '11  draw  his 
wage  as  lang  as  I  can  pay  it.  ...  That's 
to  say,  if  ma  pairtner  has  nae  objec- 
tions," he  added,  smiling  at  her. 

"Your  partner,  Davie?" 

"Ither wise,  yersel'!" 
204 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Am  I  your  partner,  Davie?"  she 
asked,  half  seriously. 

"Fine  ye  ken  it!  .  .  .  D'ye  agree  to 
Angus  gettin'  his  wage?" 

"Of  course!  Do  you  think  I  ever 
grudged  it,  Davie?" 

"Na,  na!  If  it  hadna  been  for  you, 
Angus  micht  ha'e  been  hard-up  wi'oot 
ony  pretendin';  for,  to  tell  ye  the 
honest  truth,  wife,  /  grudged  him  his 
wage  for  a  guid  while  efter  the  fire. 
But  I  said  to  masel',  if  Jess  can  forgi'e 
him,  I  maun  try  to  dae  the  same.  An' 
we  were  no'  muckle  the  waur  o'  the  fire 
efter  a',  thenks  to  yersel',  ma  dear." 

Jess  flushed,  as  she  always  did  at 
any  suggestion  of  a  compliment  upon 
her  business  abilities,  and  smiled  rather 
tremulously  at  her  husband.  There 
were  many  other  matters  of  which  she 
was  fain  to  speak  to  him,  but  it  was  not 
easy.  His  cheerfulness,  his  careless 
optimism,  his  open  admiration  for  her- 
self, his  good  -  comradeship  —  all  these 
made  it  very  hard  for  her  to  discuss  the 
sordid  matters  next — but  not  in — her 
heart. 

"Is  there  onything  else  ye  wantit  to 
speak  aboot,  Jess?"  inquired  David, 
after  a  glance  through  the  window  at 
the  setting  sun. 

205 


Jess    &    Co. 

"No — nothing  just  now,  Davie.  It'll 
keep  till  you  get  through  with  the 
pansies,"  she  replied,  after  a  short 
hesitation. 

"I'll  no'  be  lang  at  the  pansies,  an' 
it  '11  shin  be  dark.  If  there's  ony thing 
in  the  books  ye  want  to  speak  aboot,  I'll 
be  ready  in  hauf  an  'oor.  But  dinna 
fash  yer  bonny  heid  ower  the  books,  ma 
lass.  Come  ootbye  wi'  me,  an'  we'll 
leave  the  door  on  the  sneck,  an'  ye '11 
shin  hear  if  the  wee  yin  waukens.  .  .  . 
Are  ye  comin'  ?" 

"Not  to-night,  Davie.  I've  plenty 
to  do  in  the  house,  an' — " 

"That's  what  ye 're  aye  tellin'  me!" 

"It's  just  the  truth." 

"Maybe  that's  the  reason  I  dinna  like 
it.  I  whiles  think  ye 're  ower  hard 
wrocht  i'  the  hoose,  Jess.  If  that's 
the  case,  I'll — " 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  answered,  lightly. 
"I'll  complain  when  I'm  overwrought. 
Away  to  the  garden,  or  the  light  '11  be 
gone,  and  then  you'll  have  to  look  after 
your  pansies  instead  of  Katie  in  the 
morning." 

"That's  exceedingly  likely!"  he  retort- 
ed, with  pleasant  irony,  as  he  left  the 
parlor. 

Jess  drew  forward  the  hood  of  the 
206 


Jess    &    Co. 

cradle  and  lit  the  lamp,  for  the  daylight 
was  failing  in  the  room.  She  picked  up 
the  letter  her  husband  had  written  to 
his  assistant  and  carried  it  into  the 
kitchen,  placing  it  upright  on  the 
chimney-piece  there  so  that  it  might 
not  be  forgotten  in  the  morning. 

"Davie's  sure  to  see  it  when  he's  at 
his  breakfast,"  she  thought.  "I  don't 
want  to  bother  him  speaking  about  it 
again." 

Returning  to  the  parlor,  she  first 
soothed  the  child,  who  was  showing  signs 
of  restlessness,  and  then  seated  her- 
self at  the  table  and  resumed  her  ex- 
amination of  the  ledger,  from  which 
she  was  drawing  up  a  rough  balance- 
sheet  and  profit  -  and  -  loss  statement. 
Her  husband's  present  state  of  affairs 
was  vastly  different  from  that  first  one 
which  she  had  sighed  to  set  on  paper  two 
years  ago.  The  ends  that  no  stretching 
of  the  most  hopeful  imagination  could 
then  bring  together  were  now  tied  and 
with  something  to  spare.  David  Hous- 
ton was  solvent,  and  not  barely  so. 

And  yet  Jess  considered  the  cheerful 
figures  before  her  with  anxiety.  It 
was  as  if,  having  done  all  she  could  to 
make  ends  meet  and  tie  the  knot,  she 
saw  the  knot  already  giving  and  the 
207 


Jess    &    Co. 

ends  slipping  slowly  but  surely  apart. 
How  could  she  secure  the  knot  before  it 
was  too  late?  Had  she  thought  and 
labored  in  vain?  Was  her  great  idea, 
her  sweet,  secret  desire,  her  never-slum- 
bering hope  to  come  to  nothing?  What 
could  she  do  to  stay  the  dull  falling- 
away  of  David's  trade  and  bring  back 
the  recent  bright  prosperity? 

She  could  tell  her  husband  every- 
thing— everything  she  had  done,  every- 
thing she  had  endured  through  the  past 
two  years.  That  would  rouse  him,  she 
knew,  to  the  strong  effort  of  which  she 
was  convinced  he  was  capable.  But 
in  what  way  would  it  rouse  him? 
Through  tender  love?  Through  hot 
pride  ?  Through  pure  shame  ? 

Ah,  no!  She  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  her  goodman  shamed  before 
her.  Nothing  was  worth  that — not  even 
her  great  idea.  Moreover — it  suddenly 
flashed  on  her — if  she  told  him  all,  her 
great  idea  would  become  her  ruined 
hope. 

"I  can't  give  in!  I  won't  give  in!" 
she  murmured.  "I  don't  want  Da  vie 
to  be  sorry  for  me,"  she  thought,  a 
moment  later.  "I  don't  want  him  to 
be  bitterly  vexed  with  himself.  I  must 
rouse  him  without  hurting  him;  I  must 
208 


Jess    &    Co. 

be  patient  with  him;  I  must  try  to  get 
him  to  take  things  seriously  without 
seeming  to  take  them  too  seriously 
myself.  ...  Oh!  if  he  could  only  have 
another  year  like  the  last,  I  don't  think 
I'd  need  to — to  hide  things  from  him 
any  more.  Only  one  more  year,  and 
then  he —  No !  I  don't  care  if  it  takes 
five  years,  ten  years,  I  won't  give  in!  ... 
I  won't  give  in!"  she  repeated,  firmly, 
to  herself,  and  bent  steadily  over  her 
work. 

She  started  up,  listening.  She  fancied 
she  heard  a  faint  cry  outside.  She 
rose  to  go  to  the  window,  when  David 
came  hurriedly  into  the  parlor. 

"What  is — "  she  began,  seeing  his 
face  white. 

"There's  a  man  in  the  watter  oot 
thonder!"  he  said,  rapidly.  "I'll  be 
back  in  a  wee  while." 

He  was  gone. 

Jess  hastened  to  the  window,  and  saw 
him  running  out  at  the  gate.  The 
hedge  hid  him  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
then  she  saw  him  leaping  down  the 
rocky  shore.  A  thick  haze  hung  heavily 
over  the  loch,  and  out  of  it  came  the 
cry  she  had  already  heard.  Some- 
thing seemed  to  grip  her  heart,  and  a 
sickly  chill  came  over  her  body. 
209 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Davie!"  she  cried,  stupidly.  "Come 
back,  come  back!" 

She  beheld  him  wading  into  the  loch 
— deeper — deeper — and  somehow  she 
could  not  move. 

A  little  cry  from  the  cradle  broke 
the  spell  of  horror  that  seemed  to  have 
been  cast  upon  her.  She  turned  swiftly, 
caught  up  her  baby,  wrapped  the  tiny 
mortal  in  a  heavy  sofa  -  blanket,  and 
fled  from  the  house  into  the  summer 
dusk,  not  calling  but  pantingly  whis- 
pering her  husband's  name. 

From  the  road  she  could  see  nothing, 
but  when  she  reached  the  water's  edge 
— how  she  passed  over  the  rough  beach, 
burdened  and  without  stumbling,  she 
could  never  afterwards  tell — she  per- 
ceived through  the  mist  a  dim,  dark, 
monstrous  shape  like  the  back  of  a 
whale,  and,  her  nerves  giving  way,  she 
screamed  loudly. 

Some  one — she  does  not  know  who 
it  was  to-day — came  to  her  side  and 
relieved  her  of  her  baby,  patting  her  on 
the  shoulder,  endeavoring  to  soothe  her. 

"What's  that?  What's  that?"  she 
cried,  wildly,  peering  and  pointing. 

"That's  the  boat — upside  doon.  Keep 
up   yer  he'rt,  Mistress    Houston.     Yer 
man  '11  no'  get  droondit." 
210 


Jess    &    Co. 

People  began  to  collect  on  the  beach 
where  Jess  stood,  and  not  far  away  a 
couple  of  men  had  launched  a  small 
boat  and  were  pulling  to  the  rescue. 

Then,  after  what  seemed  an  age  to 
the  distracted  young  wife  and  her  ex- 
cited and  sympathetic  neighbors,  two 
heads  appeared  and  moved  towards 
the  shore.  A  shout  of  congratulation 
rose  from  the  little  group,  and  presently 
David,  finding  the  ground,  rose  and 
came  safely  to  land,  bearing  the  semi- 
conscious, almost  waterlogged  body  of 
a  young  man. 

He  dropped  his  burden  into  ready 
arms,  saying  to  his  wife,  "  Dinna  fash 
yersel',  ma  dear.  I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy. 
There's  anither  yin  hinging  on  to  the 
boat."  And  he  prepared  to  re-enter 
the  water,  when  the  voices  of  a  dozen 
people  informed  him  that  the  rescuers 
were  already  nearing  the  overturned 
craft.  And,  sure  enough,  there  were 
now  two  dim  shapes  in  the  mist,  and 
from  one  of  them  came  the  cheery 
shout,  "We've  got  him!" 

David  took  his  wife's  hand,  and  it 
was  as  if  she  had  received  an  immediate 
and  powerful  stimulant. 

"Come  and  change  your  clothes  at 
once,  Davie,"  she  said.  "Come  at 


Jess    &    Co. 

once!  The  young  man  is  being  taken 
care  of." 

"But  wull  ye  no'  get  him  up  to  the 
hoose,  Jess?" 

"  No,  no,  Davie.  We'll  luk  efter  him. 
Ye've  plenty  to  dae  lukin'  efter  yersel'," 
put  in  a  couple  of  neighbors,  eying  him 
proudly. 

"Come,  Davie,  come!  You'll  get 
cold,  if  you  stand  here,"  said  his  wife. 
"Thank  you,  kindly,"  she  went  on, 
taking  her  baby  from  the  woman  who 
had  been  holding  her.  "I  don't  know 
— I  don't  remember  how  you  came  to 
have  Katie,  but  thank  you.  .  .  .  Da- 
vie,  run  to  the  house  and  strip  at 
once!" 

David  obeyed,  and  she  followed  him 
as  swiftly  as  she  could.  Near  the  gate 
she  encountered  Mrs.  Wallace. 

The  latter  neither  asked  questions 
nor  offered  any  observations. 

"I'll  haud  the  wean.  Awa'  to  yer 
man,"  she  said,  briskly. 

Mrs.  Houston  resigned  her  charge 
gratefully,  and  flew  after  her  husband. 
She  found  him  in  front  of  the  kitchen 
fire  lighting  a  clay  pipe. 

"It's  a  guid  thing  I  hadna  on  ma 
coat" — he  had  been  gardening  in  his 
shirt-sleeves — "or  I  wudna  ha'e  had  a 
212 


Jess    &    Co. 

bit  dry  tobacco  left,"  he  remarked. 
"Ye  wasna  feart,  was  ye,  dearie?" 

"Get  off  your  wet  clothes,"  she  cried; 
"quick,  quick,  quick!"  and  stamped 
her  foot. 

The  next  moment  his  pipe  lay  shatter- 
ed on  the  floor  and  she  was  in  his  arms, 
crying  tearlessly,  as  if  her  heart  would 
break.  "Oh,  Davie,  you — you  splendid 
man!"  she  sobbed.  .  .  .  "But  change 
your  clothes!"  she  cried,  freeing  herself. 

"I  doot  ye '11  ha'e  to  change  yer  ain 
noo,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  pointing 
to  her  wet  blouse.  "Quick,  quick, 
quick!"  he  mocked  her  gently,  and 
stamped  his  foot  so  that  the  dishes  on 
the  dresser  rattled. 

"Saut  watter  winna  hurt  onybody," 
he  observed,  when  he  had  got  his  dry 
garments  and  set  his  other  pipe  agoing. 
"Dinna  fash  yersel',  Jess.  I'm  as 
richt's  the  mail !  Whaur's  the  wee  yin  ?" 

"Aunt  Wallace  has  got  her  in  the 
parlor.  I've  put  a  fire  on  there,  so  go 
and  get  toasted." 

"A  fire  this  time  o'  the  year?" 

"Tits!     Davie,    don't    ask    questions 

and  you'll  be  told  no  lies!"  she  cried, 

with    affected    impatience.     "Away   to 

the  parlor  till  I  get  you  some  supper." 

213 


Jess    &    Co. 

"But  I've  had  ma  supper." 

"Well,  you've  got  to  take  it  again. 
Go  when  I  ask  you,  Davie!" 

"I  think  I'll  gang  roon  to  Dugald 
McCall's  an'  see  hoo  the  twa  chaps 
is  gettin'  on.  The  yin  I  brocht  ashore 
was  gey  faur  through,  puir  lad." 

"You're  not  to  go  out  to-night,  Davie. 
Just  ask  Aunt  Wallace  to  get  word  for 
you.  Away  and  see  if  Katie's  sleeping." 

"  'Deed,  ay,"  he  returned,  agreeably, 
and  left  the  kitchen. 

Jess  dropped  into  a  chair  and  sat  bow- 
ed and  motionless  for  five  minutes. 
Her  nerves  were  in  a  horrid  jangle,  and 
when  at  last  she  rose  to  prepare  the 
supper,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  lived  many 
years  in  the  past  hour. 

And  all  at  once  a  dreadful  terror 
seized  her,  and  she  fled  from  the  kitchen 
to  the  parlor  door.  .  .  .  Ah,  thank  God! 
all  was  well!  Davie  was  there  safe  and 
sound  —  talking  and  laughing  to  the 
"wee  yin." 

She  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  took 
up  a  plate,  let  it  slip  from  her  fingers, 
and  laughed  softly  over  the  ruin.  .  .  . 
But  when  she  spied  the  remains  of 
David's  pipe,  the  tears  filled  her  eyes, 
and  overflowed,  and  fell  and  fell  and 
fell  .  .  .  mercifully. 

214 


Jess    &    Co. 

When  David  expressed  himself 
anxious  as  to  the  condition  of  the 
victims  of  the  boating  accident,  Mrs. 
Wallace  readily  offered  to  step  along 
the  road  to  make  inquiries,  and  accepted 
David's  apology  for  not  going  himself, 
with  the  remark: 

"Haud  yer  tongue,  man!  Ye're  bet- 
ter mindin'  the  wean  whaur  ye  are. 
Ye're  no'  wantin'  to  get  the  newmania, 
or  whitever  they  ca'  it,  an'  ha'e  Jess 
rookin'  Maister  Ogilvy  o'  a'  his  mustard 
fur  plaisters  fur  the  new  twa-three 
weeks.  Na,  na!  Ye've  had  plenty 
gallivantin'  fur  yin  day,  David!  .  .  . 
Whit's  that  ye  say  ?  Feart  fur  the 
dark  ?  Me  ?  Havers !  Them  as  isna 
feart  fur  the  licht  isna  feart  fur  the 
dark — espaycially  when  they  cairry  a 
wee  parasole  like  this  yin."  Here  she 
smiled  grimly  and  flourished  a  large 
and  heavy-looking  umbrella.  "Mind 
the  wean  an'  mind  yersel',  David,  an' 
I'll  bring  ye  word  as  quick  as  ma  legs 
can  cairry  me.  I'll  see  Jess  when  I  get 
back." 

Mrs.  Wallace  had  scarcely  passed  the 
garden  gate  when  she  was  hailed  with 
the  inquiry: 

"Hoo's  David,  Mistress  Wallace?" 

"Mercy  me!  Is  that  you,  Maister 
215 


Jess    &    Co. 

Ogilvy.  Ye  aye  turn  up  like  a  bad 
saxpence!  David's  fine,  thenk  ye  fur 
speirin',  but  he's  fashin'  hissel'  aboot 
the  lads  that  got  near  droondit,  an' 
I'm  jist  awa'  to  see  hoo  they're  keepin'. 
The  stupit  fellas  deservit  to  be  droondit, 
but  I  hope  they'll  no'  get  the  cauld, 
puir  lads.  Weel,  guid  -  nicht  to  ye, 
Maister  Ogilvy."  And  she  hurried  on. 

"Bide  a  meenit,  if  ye  please,  Mistress 
Wallace.  I've  jist  been  at  McCall's  wi'  a 
botle  o'  the  best,  for  I  thocht  the  lads 
wud  be  the  better  o'  a  wee — " 

"Whit  wey  did  ye  no'  tell  me  that 
afore?  Weel?  Whit  aboot  the  lads?" 
she  demanded. 

"I  discovered  they  was  teetotalers, 
but  Dugald  McCall  mislaid  the  botle, 
as  it  were,  an'  I  had  to  come  awa'  wi'oot 
it.  Ay,  an' — " 

"  But  are  the  puir  lads  gettin'  better  ?" 

"They  was  eatin'  toastit  cheese  when 
I  left,  no'  ha'ein'  had  their  suppers 
afore  they  gaed  oot  in  the  boat;  an' 
frae  the  quantity  o'  the  toastit  cheese 
bein'  conshumed,  I  was  disposed  to 
form  the  opeenion  that — " 

"Never  heed  yer  opeenion  the  noo. 
The  lads  is  no'  muckle  the  waur  o' 
their  drookin'  ?  Is  that  whit  ye  mean  ?" 
Eh?" 

216 


Jess    &    Co. 

"  Jist  that.  That  '11  be  aboot  it,  ony- 
wey.  But,  Mistress  Wallace — 

"Weel?"  she  inquired,  impatiently, 
as  the  grocer  paused  and  smiled  mys- 
teriously. 

"Mistress     Wallace,     what     dae     ye 
think  I  fun'  oot  the  nicht?" 
'Yersel',  I  suppose." 
'Na;  but  I'm  serious." 
'Weel,  whit  are  ye  grinnin'  at?" 
'I'm  smilin'  seriously,  as  it — " 
'Weel,  ye  sudna." 

'It's   wi'   serious   satisfaction,"  said 

Mr.  Ogilvy,  good-naturedly.     "  Wha  dae 

ye  think  the  twa  young  men  happen  to 

be?"  he  asked,  not  without  excitement. 

"Wha?" 

"They're    the    twa    new    jiners    frae 
Paisley    that   are    gaun   to    set    up    in 
opposeetion  to  David  Houston!     What 
think  ye  o'  that?" 
"Are  ye  shair?" 

"I'll  sweer  to  it!  They  arrived  at 
Kinlochan  the  day,  an'  celebrated  the 
occasion  wi'  an'  evenin'  cruise,  so  to 
speak,  in  a  sma'  boat,  but  Paisley  no' 
bein'  what  ye  wud  ca'  a  seafarin'  place, 
they  didna  ken  hoo — " 

"I'll  awa'  an'  tell  David  an'  Jess," 
said    Mrs.    Wallace,    interrupting    the 
grocer's  flow  of  detail.     "But   I   wud 
217 


Jess    &    Co. 

like  to  ha'e  a  crack  wi'  ye  the  morn, 
Maister  Ogilvy,"  she  added,  pleas- 
antly. 

"I'll  bide  here  for  ye  the  nicht,"  he 
returned,  eagerly. 

"I  said  the  morn." 

"A"  I  can  say  is  that  I'll  bide  here 
till  ye  come  oot  frae  Hazel  Cottage,  for 
it's  ower  late  for  ye  to  gang  hame 
yersel',  Mistress  Wallace,"  he  replied, 
stoutly. 

"Then  a'  /  can  say,  Maister  Ogilvy," 
she  retorted,  "is  jist  yin  word — guid- 
nicht !" 

"But — but — " 

Mrs.  Wallace,  however,  merely  nodded 
and  entered  the  gate. 

Mr.  Ogilvy  walked  away  rapidly — 
and  came  back  slowly. 

Mrs.  Wallace  went  straight  to  the 
kitchen  and  found  Jess  about  to  dish  a 
tempting  little  hot  supper.  She  told 
her  niece  what  she  had  heard,  but  told 
it  without  comment,  for  there  was 
something  about  the  young  woman's 
face  that  disturbed  her  and  made  her 
wish  to  get  home  and  consider  matters. 
So  when  Jess  pressed  her  to  stay  to 
supper,  she  refused,  briefly,  and  said  she 
would  find  her  way  from  the  house 
218 


Jess    &    Co. 

alone.  The  supper  being  at  a  critical 
stage  in  the  dishing  thereof,  Jess  could 
not  leave  it,  and  her  aunt,  after  bidding 
her  good-night  much  less  tenderly  than 
she  felt,  left  the  kitchen  and  made  her 
way  to  the  front  door. 

But  she  halted  at  the  door  of  the 
parlor  and,  opening  it  softly,  peeped  in. 
Katie  was  newly  asleep,  and  David 
was  still  by  the  cradle.  Mrs.  Wallace 
beckoned  him  to  her,  and  he  came 
stealthily. 

"The  lads  are  gettin'  on  fine,"  she 
whispered.  "Nae  doot  ye'll  hear  mair 
aboot  them  the  morn,"  she  went  on, 
adding,  to  herself,  "an"  fur  a  while  to 
come.  But  they're  no'  muckle  the 
waur." 

"I'm  glad  o'  that,"  he  said,  looking 
pleased.  "D'ye  ken  what  lads  they 
are?"  he  asked.  "I  didna  ken  their 
faces,  an'  there  wasna  a  great  deal  o' 
time  for  us  gettin'  acquaint." 

"Jess  '11  tell  ye  aboot  them.  I  maun 
gang  hame.  But,  Davie,  Davie — "  her 
voice  softened  wonderfully — "I'm  rale 
prpod  o'  ye,  man!  An' — an'  tak'  unco' 
guid  care — dinna  say  I  said  it,  mind! — 
but  tak'  unco'  guid  care  o'  yer  wife, 
Davie." 

Before  he  could  speak,  she  closed  the 
is  219 


Jess    &    Co. 

door    quietly    between    them,    and    a 
moment  later  left  the  cottage. 

The  grocer,  at  a  discreet  distance, 
walked  behind  her  until  she  reached  her 
home. 


Mr.    Ogilvy   has   Customers 

MISS  PERK,  having  recited  a  little 
list  of  groceries  from  the  page  of  a 
small  note-book,  lingered  at  the  counter 
and  gazed  about  her  as  if  trying  to 
recollect  something  she  had  omitted. 

"Naethin'  else  the  day,  ma'am?"  in- 
quired Mr.  Ogilvy,  politely,  and  moist- 
ened the  point  of  his  pencil.  "Thae 
finnan  haddies  is  new  in,  an'  so  is  the 
sausages.  The  sausages  is  vera  fine — 
vera  fine  indeed.  In.fac',  the  meen- 
ister's  leddy  was  in  gettin'  a  bunch 
the  day,  an'  she  said  the  last  yins  she 
had  was  jist  perfection;  an'  the  leddy 
that's  bidin'  wi'  her  the  noo — a  bonny 
young  leddy,  an'  that  nice  an'  free — 
said  they  was  simply  divine!" 

"A  word  that  should  never  be  em- 
ployed in  referring  to  a  mere  article  of 
food,"  remarked  Miss  Perk,  coldly. 

"Weel,  weel,  the  young  leddy's 
language  was  maybe  a  wee  thing  ex- 

221 


Jess    &    Co. 

travagant,  as  it  were,"  the  grocer  ad- 
mitted, mildly,  "but  it's  no'  for  me  to 
objec'  to  a  complimentary  observation 
on  ony  o'  ma  proveesions.  As  lang  as 
language  is  no'  profane  in  a  sweerin' 
sense,  I  can  let  it  pass.  But  I  mind  bein' 
rale  horrified  yinst  when  I  was  in  the 
toon  an'  gaed  into  the  station  baur — 
or,  to  be  exac',  the  railway  restewrant 
— for  a  gless  o'  wh — leemonade;  an'  I 
wasna  richt  inside  the  door  afore  I 
heard  a  young  man  —  a  dacent,  re- 
spectable-lukin'  young  man — cryin'  oot 
to  the  waiter  for  deevil's  kidneys, 
an' — " 

"Mr.  Ogilvy!" 

"I  beg  your  paurdon,  ma'am,  for 
usin'  the  word  afore  ye,  but  I  was  try  in' 
to  •  illustrate  to  ye  the —  Are  ye  no' 
for  ony  eggs  the  day,  ma'am  ?"  he  asked, 
realizing  suddenly  that  his  conversation 
was  not  being  appreciated. 

"Not  to-day,  thank  you.  I'm  sorry 
to  say  the  last  eggs  I  had  from  you 
were  not  up  to  the  mark,  Mr.  Ogilvy," 
said  Miss  Perk,  continuing  to  gaze 
about  her. 

"No'  up  to  the  merk?"  he  exclaimed. 
"I'm  shair  I  canna  conceive  sic  a  thing! 
Are  ye  certain,  ma'am,  that  the  eggs 
cam'  frae  here?" 

222 


Jess    &    Co. 

"My  cook  told  me  so." 

"  What  was  the  taste  like,  if  ye  please, 
ma'am?"  he  inquired,  in  a  tone  re- 
spectful yet  dignified. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  that,  as,  personally, 
I  never  eat  eggs,"  said  Miss  Perk. 

"  Weel,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy  after  a  short 
pause,  "eggs  is  things  that  nae  human 
bein'  can  guarantee,  an'  I'm  no'  gaun 
to  perjure  masel'  wi'  sayin'  that  I  never 
had  the  misfortune  to  sell  a  dootfu'  yin; 
but  I  wud  jist  like  to  ask  ye  if  yer  cook 
is  new  to  Kinlochan,  ma'am." 

"Yes.  She  has  only  been  with  me  a 
fortnight,"  the  lady  replied,  ceasing  to 
gaze  about  her  and  fixing  a  look  of 
inquiry  on  the  grocer. 

"An'  she  cam'  frae  the  toon,  I  pre- 
shume." 

"Yes.     But  why — " 

Then  the  grocer  drew  himself  up  with 
a  smile  of  satisfaction.  "Thenk  ye, 
ma'am,  for  tellin'  me.  It's  jist  as  I 
suspected.  Yer  cook,  puir  buddy, 
wasna  used  to  ma  eggs.  The  freshness 
wud  be  strange  to  her.  There's  a  great 
difference  at  ween  an  egg  laid  at  a 
distance  an'  an  egg  laid  locally,  as  it 
were.  Wull  I  no'  jist  send  ye  hauf  a 
dizzen,  ma'am?" 

"Not  to-day,  thank  you,"  Miss  Perk 
223 


Jess   &    Co. 

returned.  "By -the -way,"  she  con- 
tinued, coming  to  her  point  at  last, 
"I  was  calling  at  Hazel  Cottage  on  my 
way  here." 

"Was  ye?" 

"I  understand  you  are  a  friend  of 
the  Houstons,"  she  went  on,  cautiously. 

"I'mprood  to  say  I  am.  He's  a  fine 
chap,  is  David  Houston;  an'  as  for  his 
guid  wife,  it's  a  peety  there's  no'  mair 
like  her  on  the  shore — an'  on  earth,  for 
that  maitter.  'Deed,  ma'am,  every 
time  she  comes  into  ma  shop  I  wish  I  was 
her  fayther.  She's  that  bonny  an' 
blithe  an'  kind !  An'  she's  clever  forbye ! 
It  was  jist  the  ither  day  I  got  fankled 
wi'  some  o'  ma  accoonts — I  was  thinkin' 
o'  takin'  stoke,  an'  I  hadna  tried  it 
for  seeven  year — an'  I  was  groanin', 
hauf  dementit,  ower  a  dizzen  an'  eleeven 
tins  o'  lobster,  finest  quality,  at  seeven- 
pence  three-fardens  the  tin,  less  five 
per  cent. — ' 

"But—" 

"An"  jist  then,"  proceeded  the  grocer, 
too  interested  in  his  own  recital  to 
notice  the  interruption — "jist  then  she 
cam'  into  the  shop  as  brisk's  a  bee,  an' 
speirt  what  was  distressin'  me.  'A 
dizzen  an'  eleeven  tins  o'  lobster,'  says  I. 
An'  she  lauched  an'  lauched  till  I  cudna 
224 


Jess    &    Co. 

help  lauchin'  masel',  though  I  didna 
perceive  the  pint  o'  the  joke,  as  it  were, 
till  a  wee  while  efter.  Ye  see,  ma'am, 
she  let  on  she  thocht  I  had  ett  the  dizzen 
an'  eleeven  tins  o'  lobster.  That  was 
the  pint  o'  the  joke.  But  at  the  time 
I  didna  perceive  it,  an'  I  jist  said  to 
her  that  takin'  stoke  was  an  invention 
of  the  d — evil  yin,  an' — " 

"Every  business  man  ought  to  take 
stock  at  least  once  a  year,"  put  in 
Miss  Perk. 

"That's  true,  ma'am,  that's  true. 
But  it's  a  sair  job  when  Providence  has 
made  ye  a  grocer.  When  Mistress 
Houston  cam'  into  the  shop  I  was 
gettin'  dazed,  an'  I  seemed  to  behold 
naethin'  but  lobsters  an'  vulgar  fractions 
dancin'  afore  me.  But  in  aboot  twa 
meenits  she  had  workit  oot  the  calcula- 
tion for  me,  an'  I  was  masel'  again! 
An'  she  cam'  back  the  next  day  an' 
workit  oot  a  lot  mair  sums  that  wud 
ha'e  turned  the  schule  -  maister  peery- 
heidit.  Ay,  did  she!  Aw,  she's  a 
clever  lass,  an'  David  Houston's  the 
lucky  lad  to  get  her !  Are  ye  no'  for  ony 
smoked  ham  the  day,  ma'am?  I've 
some  supremely  fine — ' 

"Not  to-day,  thank  you.  I  was 
going  to  ask  you  if  you  knew  whether 
225 


Jess    &    Co. 

David  Houston's  business  was  being 
affected  by  the  young  men  who  came  to 
Kinlochan  recently,"  said  Miss  Perk, 
adding,  "Of  course  you  know  I  take 
a  great  interest  in  the  young  couple,  and 
I  put  the  same  question  to  Mrs.  Hous- 
ton to-day,  but  I  must  say  I  found  her 
rather  reticent." 

The  grocer  scratched  his  ear  before  he 
replied. 

"Weel,  ma'am,"  he  said,  cautiously, 
"seein'  that  I've  never  pit  the  question 
masel',  I'm  no'  in  the  poseetion  for  to 
answer  it.  But  for  ma  pairt,  I  dinna 
think  the  twa  young  men  '11  pit  David 
Houston's  business  up  nor  doon. 
They've  jist  got  the  yin  job,  ye  ken — 
the  new  hooses." 

' '  But  it  must  have  been  a  blow  to 
David  Houston,  not  getting  that  large 
piece  of  work." 

"He's  got  plenty  wi'oot  that." 

"Indeed!  I  understand  he  had  to 
dismiss  his  man  Binnie  some  time  ago." 

"Ay;  but  Binnie  '11  be  comin'  back, 
an'  anither  man  wi'  him,  next  week," 
checking  an  exultant  chuckle  with  a 
violent  cough.  "Ye  see,  ma'am,  David 
Houston  has  got  the  contrac'  for  the 
new  store  at  the  pier-heid,  an'  there's 
twa -three  ither  nice  jobs  that  '11  come 
226 


Jess    &    Co. 

his  wey  afore  the  year's  oot.  Aw,  I 
wudna  disturb  masel'  aboot  the  Hous- 
tons,  if  I  was  you,  ma'am." 

"I'm  very  glad  to  learn  the  prospects 
are  so  good,  Mr.  Ogilvy.  I  had  heard 
that  the  new  store  at  the  pier  was  to  go 
to  the  new-comers  when  they  had  finish- 
ed with  Mr.  Bobbie's  houses.  In  fact, 
Mr.  Dobbie  told  me  so  himself." 

"Ye  ken  Maister  Dobbie,  ma'am?" 
quietly  asked  Mr.  Ogilvy. 

"I  happened  to  meet  him  one  day 
when  I  was  having  a  glance  at  his  new 
houses — very  nice  little  flats  they  are — 
quite  superior  to  the  present  tenements 
in  Kinlochan.  I'm  sure  the  people  in 
the  village  will  want  to  remove  as  soon 
as  possible.  Of  course  I  don't  know 
Mr.  Dobbie  personally,  but  from  what 
he  said  I  should  imagine  he  would  make 
a  good  landlord." 

"Oh,  I've  nae  doot  he'll  get  his  flats 
filled — in  time,  ma'am.  I  heard  the 
ither  day  that  Tousie  Tarn  was  thinkin' 
o'  takin'  yin  o'  them."  Tousie  Tarn  was 
a  dishevelled  but  cheerful,  half-witted 
fellow,  who  occasionally  made  his  bed  in 
Kinlochan  outhouses. 

Miss   Perk  was  about  to  reprimand 
the  grocer  for  unbecoming  levity,  but 
before  she  could  speak  he  continued: 
227 


Jess    &    Co. 

"In  fac',  I  believe  Tarn  met  Maister 
Bobbie  on  the  road  an'  speirt  the  rent. 
Tarn  maun  ha'e  his  joke,  puir  chap;  but 
I  understaun'  Maister  Dobbie  got  an 
awfu'  rid  face,  for  there  was  a  lot  o' 
folk  listenin'," 

"Of  course,"  said  Miss  Perk,  chang- 
ing the  subject,  "the  new-comers  will 
have  quite  a  friendly  feeling  towards 
David  Houston  after  his  gallant  act  on 
the  evening  of  their  arrival." 

"Freenly?  Oh,  ma'am,  its  mair  like 
britherly!  .The  twa  Wilkies  an'  David 
Houston  are  as  thick  as  onythin',  an' 
as  for  opposeetion  at  ween  them,  ye 
micht  as  weel  luk  for  a  fecht  atween  a 
pair  o'  ma  kippers  an'  a  finnan  haddie! 
I  think  I  mentioned  the  fac'  that  the 
finnan  haddies  was  mair  nor  usual  de- 
leecious  the  day,  an'  that  the  meenis- 
ter's  leddy —  Na',  it  was  the  sausages 
she  referred  to." 

"So  you  think  that  the  Wilkies  will 
not  interfere  with  David  Houston's 
business?" 

"I think  they'll  no' !  Furbye, ma'am, 
the  shop  they've  set  up  is  jist  tempo- 
rairy,  so  to  speak." 

' '  You  mean  that  they  will  leave  Kin- 
lochan  when  they  have  finished  their 
work  at  Mr.  Dobbie 's  houses?" 
228 


Jess    &    Co. 

"No'  bein'  a  soothsayer,  as  it  were, 
ma'am,  I  wudna  like  to  express  masel' 
in  sic  a  definite  fashion,"  said  Mr.  Ogil- 
vy,  fearing  that  possibly  he  was  already 
expressing  himself  too  freely.  "But 
whatever  they  dae,  it  '11  be  fair.  Mar- 
malade's no'  the  only  guid  thing  that 
comes  oot  o'  Paisley.  An'  so  ye  needna 
fash  yersel'  aboot  David  Houston  an' 
his  guid  wife,  ma'am,  if  ye '11  alloo  me 
the  leeberty  o'  sayin'  it." 

Miss  Perk  smiled  the  least  bit  unpleas- 
antly. "You  seem  to  have  an  exten- 
sive knowledge  of  what  passes  in  the 
district,  Mr.  Ogilvy,"  she  remarked. 

The  grocer  grinned  modestly  and 
shook  his  head.  "It's  little  I  ken," 
he  replied,  innocently,  "for  I'm  no'  vera 
guid  at  askin'  questions." 

If  there  was  any  suggestion  in  his 
words,  Miss  Perk  did  not  observe  it,  for 
she  immediately  resumed  her  quest  for 
information. 

"I  suppose  David  Houston  has  made 
some  arrangement  with  the  Wilkies," 
she  said,  eying  Mr.  Ogilvy  searchingly. 

"Arrangement,  ma'am?" 

"Yes.  Some  arrangement  by  which 
they  are  not  to  interfere  with  his  busi- 
ness. They  could  hardly  refuse  to 
agree  after — " 

229 


Jess    &    Co. 

But  she  had  touched  the  elderly 
man's  loyalty — touched  it  to  the  quick. 
He  reddened,  but  met  her  gaze  steadily. 

"Ma'am,"  he  said,  with  a  hint  of 
contempt  in  his  tone,  "David  Houston 
wudna  tak'  advantage  o'  anither  man 
if  the  ither  man  owed  him  a  dizzen  lifes 
instead  o'  yin.  David  Houston's  no' 
that  kind.  He's  no'  like  the  laddie  that 
catched  his  wee  sister  stealin'  the  jam, 
an'  tell't  her  he  wudna  ha'e  her  poachin' 
on  his  preserves.  Na!  There's  nae  mair 
arrangement  atween  David  Houston  an' 
the  Wilkies  the  day  nor  there  was  afore 
they  left  Paisley." 

"How  can  you  know?"  demanded 
Miss  Perk,  irritated  at  the  rebuff. 

"I  jist  ken,  ma'am,"  he  answered, 
stolidly.  "Of  course,"  he  added,  "I 
canna  prove  it — in  the  mean  time,  ony- 
wey;  but  ye '11  see  for  yersel'  later  on 
that  Samuel  Ogilvy  can  weegh  charac- 
ters as  weel  as  groceries.  Ay!"  Here 
the  grocer  pursed  up  his  mouth  and 
struck  an  attitude  with  his  arms  folded. 
Had  Miss  Perk  known  him  better  she 
would  have  understood  that  it  was  dan- 
gerous to  attempt  further  inquisition. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  kindly  inform  me," 
she  began. 

"Excuse  me,  ma'am,  but  I'm  oot  o' 
230 


Jess    &    Co. 

information.  Naethin'  left  but  provee- 
sions  o'  the  best  quality,"  he  returned, 
with  a  tight  grin. 

The  grin  exasperated  the  lady.  "And 
impertinence,"  she  supplemented,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Peppermints  ?"  he  inquired,  politely. 
"Wud  ye  like  the  or'nar'  kind  or  the 
dooble-strong  ?" 

"I  said  impertinence!"  cried  she,  los- 
ing her  temper. 

"An'  /  said  or'nar'  kind  or  dooble- 
strong,"  he  retorted,  boiling  inwardly, 
but  retaining  the  tight  grin.  "Ye 're 
welcome  to  either,  no'  that  I  think  ye're 
needin'  ony." 

"You  forget  yourself!"  exclaimed 
Miss  Perk,  with  awesome  majesty,  gath- 
ering up  her  skirts. 

The  grocer  was  not  fear-stricken,  but 
a  sensation  of  shame  at  having  lost  con- 
trol of  his  tongue  came  upon  him. 

"Aw,  weel,  ma'am,"  he  began,  in  a 
tone  of  defence  rather  than  of  apology, 
"ye  micht  conseeder  ma  feelin's — " 

The  lady,  however,  left  the  counter 
without  another  word,  but  at  the  door 
she  turned  and  in  a  freezing  voice  said : 
"I  find  I  shall  not  require  the  articles 
I  ordered  to-day,  and  I  shall  be  obliged 
if  you  will  render  your  account  imme- 
231 


Jess    &    Co. 

diately,  and  ask  your  messenger  to  call 
for  two  empty  biscuit  tins  and  six 
empty  orangeade  bottles." 

She  stepped  from  the  doorway  as  if 
she  were  shaking  the  dust  of  the  shop 
from  her  feet,  and  left  Mr.  Ogilvy  gaping 
— there  is  no  other  word  for  it — over 
the  counter. 

For  nearly  a  minute  he  stood  motion- 
less. Then  suddenly  his  jaws  set,  and 
raising  his  clinched  fist  above  his  head 
he  smote  the  counter  such  a  blow  that 
the  structure  trembled,  and  a  lofty 
tower  of  tins,  which  he  had  carefully 
erected  that  morning,  tottered  near  its 
base  and  crashed  in  ruins  on  the  outer 
floor.  Three  large  tins  that  had  formed 
the  base  remained,  and  with  a  grunt  of 
rage  he  caught  them  up  and  hurled  them 
after  the  others  just  as  Mrs.  Wallace  en- 
tered the  shop. 

"Whit  kin'  o'  gemm  is  this  ye 're 
play  in'  at?"  she  demanded,  halting  a 
yard  away  from  the  counter.  "Is't 
lawn -tennis  or  manslaughter?" 

Speechless  and  perspiring  with  shame, 
Mr.  Ogilvy  bowed  his  head  and  fumbled 
with  his  inkpot. 

"Whit's  ado,  man?"  she  went  on, 
severely.  "If  ye're  jist  practeesin'  fur 
the  shows,  ye  sud  shut  yer  shop  afore 
232 


J.ess    &    Co. 

ye  begin.  I've  nae  ambeetion  to  get 
kilt  wi'  a  tin  o'  corned  beef,  an'  never 
even  get  a  taste  o'  't.  That's  no'  the 
wey  to  keep  yer  customers  .  .  .  Tits, 
man !  Luk  whit  ye 're  daein'  wi'  the  ink ! 
Whit  a  mess!" 

"Oh,  me!"  groaned  the  grocer,  laying 
down  the  pot  and  mopping  up  the  flood 
with  wrapping-paper.  "Oh,  me!" 

"Maister  Ogilvy,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace, 
firmly,  "wull  ye  be  pleased  to  explain 
whit  a'  this  cairry-on  means?  Are  ye 
clean  daft  or  are  ye  jist  no'  weel?" 

"Oh,  me!" 

"Oh,  me,  yer  granny's  mutch!  Whit 
d'ye  mean  heavin'  aboot  yer  guid  corned 
beef  as  if  it  wis  dirt,  furbye  near  crip- 
plin'  yer  best  customer,  if  no  killin'  her 
fatally,  fur  life?  Eh?" 

Mr.  Ogilvy  at  last  pulled  himself  to- 
gether. "It — it  was  a — a  kin'  o'  sub- 
stitute for  sweerin',  as  it  were,"  he  said, 
feebly. 

"A  gey  expensive  substitute!"  she  re- 
marked, with  a  snort. 

"Aw,  Mistress  Wallace,  ye — ye  canna 
conceive  what  I've  come  through,"  he 
murmured,  wiping  his  forehead  with  his 
apron. 

"Ye  luk  as  if  ye  had  come  through  a 
patent  mangle." 

233 


Jess    &    Co. 

"That's  the  wey  I  feel,  onywey,"  he 
returned,  seriously.  "An"  if  I  hadna 
had  the  presence  o'  mind,  as  it  were,  to 
fling  doon  thae  three  tins  o'  corned  beef, 
shuperior  quality,  I  wud  ha'e  been 
compelled  to  express  masel'  in  shockin' 
language.  It  was  better  to  sacrifice 
ma  corned  beef  nor  ma  tongue." 

"Tongue  bein'  dearer  nor  corned 
beef,"  put  in  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"I  meant  the  tongue  in  ma  mooth," 
said  the  grocer,  looking  hurt.  "It's  a 
puir,  stammerin'  thing,  but  it  '11  never 
be  devoted  to  sweerin'  if  I  can  help 
it." 

"Ye  maun  gang  through  a  lot  o'  tins 
if  ye're  ta'en  that  wey  frequent-like," 
she  observed,  picking  one  from  the  floor. 
"Whit's  the  price  o'  this  yin?" 

' '  Seevenpence-ha  'penny . ' ' 

"But  it's  bashed.  I'll  gi'e  ye  sax- 
pence.  Ye  wudna  ha'e  the  face  to  sell 
it  to  onybody  like  that." 

"Na.  An'  I  wudna  like  to  sell  it  to 
yersel',  Mistress  Wallace,  even  at  the 
maist  drastic  reduction,"  he  replied. 

"Och,  I'm  no'  heedin'  aboot  the 
bashes.  I  ken  hoo  they  cam'  there. 
Here's  anither,"  she  stooped  and  picked 
up  a  second  tin.  "I'll  tak'  this  yin, 
tae." 

234 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Na,  na.  I've  been  affrontit  enough 
the  day  wi'oot  acceptin'  yer  chairity, 
Mistress  Wallace." 

"  Haud  yer  tongue.  I'm  fur  the  beef. 
But  ye  best  come  roon  an'  gether  up 
yer  tins.  Some  of  them's  no'  that 
bashed,  an'  ye'll  maybe  be  able  to 
pass  them  aff  on  some  o'  yer  cus- 
tomers." 

"Weel,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy,  as  he  came 
round  from  behind  the  counter,  "I'll 
gi'e  ye  the  twa  for  ninepence,  an'  I'll  no' 
tak'  a  farden  mair." 

"I  doot  ye 're  on  the  road  to  ruin," 
she  observed,  and  proceeded  to  help 
him  to  collect  the  tins  and  set  them  to- 
gether in  an  orderly  pile.  ' '  A  man  never 
losses  his  temper  wi'oot  lossin'  some- 
thin'  else,"  she  remarked,  sagely. 

"That's  an  agonizin'  fac',"  he  re- 
turned, humbly.  "I — I'm  sair  vexed 
ye  seen  the  deplorable  exhibeetion  o' 
ma  angry  passions,  Mistress  Wallace," 
he  added,  bending  over  the  floor.  "I'm 
sayin'  I'm  sair  vexed." 

"Oh,  dinna  fash  yersel'.  Yer  angry 
passions  made  nae  odds  to  me.  I  wis 
jist  thankfu'  ye  didna  strike  me." 

"If  I  had  struck  you,  Mistress  Wal- 
lace— if  I  had  struck  you,"  he  continued, 
excitedly,  "I  wud  deserve  to  be  drawn 

»6  235 


Jess    &    Co. 

an'  quartered  an'  hanged  on  a  giblet, 
an'— 

"On  a  whit?     A  giblet?" 

"Aw,  I  meant  gibbet." 

"  Weel,  Maister  Ogilvy,  ye've  evident- 
ly no'  got  back  the  command  o'  yer 
tongue  yet,  so  if  ye'll  tak'  yer  place  on 
the  ither  side  o'  the  coonter,  I'll  dae 
the  speakin'." 

The  grocer  retired  to  the  position  in- 
dicated. "I  hope  ye're  no'  offendit, 
Mistress  Wallace,"  he  said,  sadly. 

"If  I  wis,  I  wudna  be  waitin'  here 
fur  ye  to  tak'  doon  an  important  order. 
.  .  .  Weel,  ye  best  begin  wi'  pittin'  doon 
the  twa  tins  o'  corned  beef." 

Having  seen  all  her  requirements  re- 
corded, Mrs.  Wallace  abruptly  put  the 
question  : 

"Whit  wis  she  sayin'  to  ye  to  get  up 
yer  dander?" 

"Wha?" 

"Ye  ken  fine." 

"Ye  mean  Miss  Perk  ?"  he  stammered. 

"Jist  that.  Whit  wis  she  sayin'  to 
gar  ye  behave  like  a  ragin'  lunattic?" 

"But  hoo  d'ye  ken  it  was  her?" 

"Man,  she  kep'  me  frae  comin'  into 
the  shop  fur  near  hauf  an  'oor,  an'— 

"Aw,  I  wish  ye  had  come  in,  Mistress 
Wallace,"  the  grocer  fervently  sighed. 
236 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Ye've  gotten  plenty  damage  wi'oot 
her  an'  me  addin'  mair,"  said  the  other, 
with  a  grim  chuckle.  ' '  Na,  na !  I  wisna 
comin'  in  when  she  wis  there,  so  I  had 
a  crack  wi'  postie  till  she  cam'  oot.  She 
cam'  oot  wi'  her  heid  up,  like  a  hen 
takin'  a  drink,  but  no'  as  happy  like. 
Wis  she  gie'in'  ye  a  lectur,  Maister 
Ogilvy  ?" 

Mr.  Ogilvy  shook  his  head. 

"Wis  she  makin'  complaints?" 

"She  was.  But  I  micht  ha'e  tholed 
that.  It  was  her  inquiries  that  bate 
me.  Oh,  me!  the  curiosity  o'  thon 
wumman  is  somethin'  stupendous!  She 
seemed  to  be  seekin'  information  as  if 
she  was  hungerin'  for't — strivin'  for  to 
draw  it  oot  o'  me.  An'  as  for  me,  I  can 
only  say  that  I  was  tried  as  by  a  cork- 
screw!" 

"Whit  wis  she  wantin'  to  ken?  The 
wholesale  prices  o'  yer  groceries,  or  yer 
age,  or  yer — 

"She  was  speirin'  aboot  David  Hous- 
ton's affairs,"  he  replied,  and  briefly  re- 
lated his  experience. 

"I  micht  ha'e  kent  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Wallace,  with  a  wag  of  her  head.  "  She's 
been  at  Jess  twicet  this  week,  and  Jess 
thinks  she  wis  offendit  the  last  time  at 
no'  gettin'  a'  the  answers  she  wantit." 
237 


Jess    &    Co. 

"But  what  business  has  she  wi'  Da- 
vid's affairs?" 

"Speir  somethin'  easier,  Maister  Ogil- 
vy.  But  it's  naethin'  new.  She's 
been  that  wey  since  Jess  got  mairrit. 
She's  been  curious  aboot  a  lot  o'  folk 
since  I  cam'  to  Kinlochan — she  wis  cu- 
rious aboot  masel'  yinst,  jist  yinst, 
though — but  she's  never  been  curious 
aboot  onybody  like  Jess." 

"It's  maist  mysterious,"  said  the 
grocer,  drawing  a  long  breath:  "yin  o' 
thae  things  that  may  be  said  to  baffle 
the  keenest  intellectual  investigation. 
Ay!" 

"  Baffle  yer  Aunty  Kate !  Ye've  been 
readin'  mair  o'  thae  detective  stories!" 

"  It  has  been  said  by  them  as  is  com- 
petent to  gi'e  an  opeenion  that  detective 
stories  is  vera  guid  for  trainin'  the  mind 
to  conseeder  problems,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy, 
nettled  into  dignity. 

' '  Mercy  me !  Then  ye  canna  ha'e  read 
suffeecient,  Maister  Ogilvy,"  she  retort- 
ed, crushingly.  "But,"  she  continued, 
seriously,  and  with  less  asperity,  "I've 
been  thinkin'  aboot  Miss  Perk,  an'  I've 
got  a — " 

"A  clew?" 

"I've  got  a—" 

"A  theory,  Mistress — " 
238 


Jesis    &    Co. 

"Can  ye  no'  keep  quate?  I've  got  a 
notion." 

"A  notion,  Mistress  Wallace?" 

"Ay.  D'ye  no'  ken  whit  a  notion  is? 
.  .  .  Weel,  if  ye '11  baud  yer  tongue,  I'll 
tell  ye  whit  /  think.  In  the  first  place, 
ye  ken  I  wudna  say  a  guid  word  for 
onybody  if  I  cud  help  it;  an'  in  the  sec- 
ond place  I  dinna  like  thon  Miss  Perk 
ony  better  nor  she  likes  me.  But  I 
think  she  is  rale  fond  o'  Jess,  though 
she  has  a  gey  stupit  wey  o'  showin'  her 
fondess;  an'  furbye  that,  I  think  she's 
got  it  intil  her  heid — an'  canna  get  it 
oot,  either — that  David's  affairs  is  in  a 
bad  wey.  Noo,  Maister  Ogilvy,  whit 
think  ye  o'  that  notion?" 

"I — I  think  ye're  an  exceedin'  fair- 
mindit  wumman,"  replied  the  grocer, 
"an'  yer  theory,  or  notion,  is — is  unco 
nice.  I  jist  wish  7  had  thocht  o'  it  a 
wee  while  syne." 

"Na,  na!  Ye  wis  faur  better  to  dae 
as  ye  did.  Miss  Perk's  no'  gaun  to 
help  Jess  by  gaun  roon  Kinlochan  an' 
speirin'  aboot  David's  affairs,"  said 
Mrs.  Wallace. 

"I'm  shair  I  tried  for  to  show  her  that 
David's  affairs  was  flourishin',  but  she 
wudna  believe  me.  She — " 

"Ay;  I  tell't  ye  she  has  gotten  it  intil 


Jess    &    Co. 

her  held,  an'  canna  get  it  oot.  She's  a 
stupit  buddy,  fur  she  micht  ha'e  kent 
at  the  vera  beginnin'  that  a  young  lass, 
new  mairrit,  an'  wi'  ony  speerit,  wudna 
pit  up  wi'  ony  leddy  aye  pokin'  her  nose 
intil  her  man's  affairs,  no'  even  if  she 
kent  the  leddy  meant  weel." 

"D'ye  no'  think  she's  maybe  gotten 
a  spite  at  Jess  noo?" 

"No"  a  real  spite.  I  think  if  Jess  wis 
ever  needin'  her  help,  she  wud  gi'e  it 
quick  an'  kindly.  But  she's  wild  at 
Jess  the  noo  for  bein'  independent.  Hoo- 
ever,  we'll  maybe  see  if  I'm  richt  some- 
day. .  .  .  Whit  did  ye  say  she  wis  sayin' 
aboot  thon  penny  masher,  Dobbie?" 

Mr.  Ogilvy  supplied  the  details  in 
full,  finishing  up  with  the  hope  that  he 
had  not  said  too  much  to  Miss  Perk. 

"Ye  micht  ha'e  been  mair  discreet 
wi'oot  bein'  ta'en  fur  a  complete  dum- 
my," Mrs.  Wallace  replied.  "But  I 
dinna  think  ye've  did  muckle  damage. 
That  wis  a  guid  joke  about  Tousie  Tarn," 
she  laughed.  "I'll  ha'e  to  gi'e  him 
jeely  on  his  piece  the  next  time  he 
comes  to  ma  door.  .  .  .  Weel,  ha'e  ye 
had  a  crack  wi'  the  Wulkies  since  I  seen 
ye?" 

"Ay,  Mistress  Wallace,  but  of  course 
I  was  carefu'  what  I  said.  But  them 
240 


Jess    &    Co. 

an'  me's  gettin'  rale  pack.  They're 
dacent  lads,  and  they're  baith  that 
ta'en  up  wi'  David  an'  Jess.  What  dae 
you  think  o'  them  yersel',  noo  that  ye've 
got  better  acquaint  wi'  them?" 

"I  think  thon  jumpin'-jake  Bobbie 
cudna  ha'e  pickit  oot  waur  men  fur  his 
dirty  wark." 

"I'm  gled  to  hear  ye  say  that." 

"I  wis  speakin'  to  the  lads  the  day, 
an'  they're  comin'  to  their  teas  at  ma 
hoose  on  Friday.  I'll  be  pleased  to  see 
yersel',  Maister  Ogilvy,"  she  added, 
graciously,  "if  ye  can  thole  shuttin'  yer 
shop  sae  early." 

"I  wud  shut  ma  shop  at  ony  'oor  for 
sic  a  pleesure,"  he  returned,  beaming 
with  delight.  "It's  rale  kind  o'  ye  to 
invite  me,  Mistress  Wallace,  an'  I'll 
be  richt  prood  to  attend.  Ma  satisfac- 
tion is  vera  acute,  an'  I  may  say  I — " 

"Is't  settled  that  David's  to  get  the 
job  o'  the  new  store  at  the  pier?"  she 
interrupted. 

"  It's  settled — but  it  was  a  close  shave. 
I  was  jist  in  time." 

' '  Hoo  did  ye  manage  it  ?  Did  Maister 
Murdoch  no'  think  ye  had  an'  unco 
cheek  ringin'  his  bell  last  nicht?" 

"Maybe  he  did,  but  I  wasna  heedin'. 
I  jist  catched  him  in  time  to  keep  him 
241 


Jess    &    Co. 

frae  tellin'  his  manager  to  gi'e  the  job 
to  the  Wilkies.  He  wasna  gaun  to  see 
me  at  first,  but  I  sent  him  word  that  I 
was  on  an  errand  o'  justice,  as  it  were, 
an'  at  last  I  seen  him.  He  wasna 
pleased  at  me  for  interferin',  though." 

"Whit  did  ye  say?" 

"I  said  it  wud  be  a  roarin'  shame  no' 
to  gi'e  the  job  to  David  Houston." 

"An'  whit  did  he  say?" 

"He  speirt  if  I  hadna  plenty  to  dae  in 
ma  shop,  an'  he  rang  the  bell,  dootless 
to  get  me  pit  out." 

"Weel?" 

"Then,  in  the  strictest  confidence,  ye 
ken,  I  gi'ed  him  a  hint  aboot  Bobbie's 
gemm.  (It  maun  ha'e  been  some  freen 
o'  Bobbie's  that  askit  Maister  Murdoch 
to  gi'e  the  job  to  the  Wilkies.  It  wasna 
Bobbie  hissel'.)" 

"An'  whit  happened  then?" 

"Oh,  then  I  kent  it  was  a'  richt  for 
Bavid.  Efter  a  few  questions  to  see  if 
I  wasna  leein',  he  offers  me  a  ceegaur, 
an'  says,  rale  pleesant  like,  'I'm  glad  ye 
tell't  me  in  time,  Ogilvy.  The  job's 
Houston's,  an'  if  I  had  the  use  o'  ma 
legs' — he's  lame,  puir  man — 'I  wud  like 
a  kick  at  that  deevil  Bobbie!'" 

"Bid  he  say  deevil?" 

"Ay,  did  he,  an'  waur  nor  that.  But 
242 


Jess    &    Co. 

his  he'rt's  in  the  richt  place,  and  his  jobs 
for  David  '11  no'  likely  end  wi'  the  new 
store,  I'm  thinkin'." 

The  grocer  could  not  help  looking 
towards  Mrs.  Wallace  for  a  sign  of  ap- 
probation. 

"Ye  did  no'  sae  bad,"  she  said,  quiet- 
ly, and  smiled. 

And  he  was  satisfied. 

"Weel,  Maister  Ogilvy,"  she  said, 
later,  after  some  further  conversation, 
"I'll  awa'  to  Hazel  Cottage,  fur  I'm  kin' 
o'  anxious  aboot  Jess.  She's  no'  as 
weel  as  she  ocht  to  be.  She's  never  got 
ower  that  nicht  when  David  gaed  intil 
the  sea  efter  the  Wulkie  lads.  Her 
speerits  is  ower  changeable  —  up  and 
doon,  wi'oot  ony  guid  reason." 

"I'm  vexed  aboot  that.  Wull  she  no' 
ha'e  the  doctor  ?  .  .  .  She  winna  ?  That's 
a  peety.  I  ken  David  was  troubled  the 
last  time  I  had  a  crack  wi'  him,  but  he 
didna  tell  me.  Wull  she  no'  tak'  a  tonic, 
as  it  were?" 

"Weel,  ye  see,  Maister  Ogilvy,  I  didna 
want  to  frichten  the  lass  aboot  hersel', 
an'  I've  never  said  to  her  I  thocht  she 
wisna  lukin'  weel.  But  I  doot  some- 
thin'  '11  ha'e  to  be  dune  if  she  disna 
get  better  quick.  She'll  no'  tak'  care  o' 
hersel'.  She  works  aboot  the  hoose  like 
243 


Jess    &    Co. 

a  powny,  an'  then  wee  Katie's  needin' 
her  mair  every  day — I'm  jist  gaun  alang 
to  baud  the  wean  fur  a  while — an'  Jess 
disna  sleep  weel  at  nicht.  She's  aye 
waukenin'  up  an'  wantin'  to  dae  things. 
David,  puir  lad,  tell't  me  that  the  ither 
nicht,  or  early  in  the  mornin',  he  wauk- 
ened  an'  missed  her,  an'  he  got  up  an' 
gaed  to  the  paurlor,  an'  there  she  wis 
— workin'  at  his  books  ...  I  never  seen 
a  man  as  vexed  as  David.  An'  he  disna 
want  to  frichten  her,  either." 

"That's  terrible!"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy, 
sympathetically.  "She  maun  be  made 
to  tak'  care  o'  hersel'.  Does  she  no' 
understaun  hoo  weel  her  man's  daein'  ? 
Ye  sud  tell  her  aboot  the  store.  I 
wasna  gaun  to  tell  David,  for  he'll 
likely  get  the  offeecial  intimation  the 
morn.  But  guid  news  is  better  nor 
meddicine,  ye  ken.  Tell  her,  Mistress 
Wallace." 

"I'll  dae  that.  But  Jess  has  a  great 
notion  in  her  young  heid — I'll  tell  ye 
aboot  it  some  day — an'  she  canna  help 
strivin'  fur  it.  ...  Weel,  guid-day  to  ye, 
Maister  Ogilvy,  an'  see  an'  get  us  some 
extra  nice  ham  fur  Friday  nicht." 

"Depend  on  me!  Be  shair  an'  tell 
her  aboot  Maister  Murdoch  speakin' 
aboot  ither  jobs  forbye  the  store,  but 
244 


Jess    &    Co. 

dinna  let  on  I  had  onythin'  to  dae  wi' 
the  business." 

Left  to  himself,  Mr.  Ogilvy  paced  up 
and  down  the  floor  behind  his  counter. 
"Twa  customers  this  efternune  —  an' 
what  a  difference!  Samuel  Ogilvy!" 
he  moralized,  "ye 're  the  lucky  yin  — 
gaun  to  yer  tea  on  Friday!  .  .  .  But,  oh! 
that  Miss  Perk!  Job  hissel'  wud  ha'e 
cried  oot  at  her  impiddence!  But  I'm 
vexed  I  lost  ma  temper.  Loss  yer 
temper,  an'  ye  loss  some  thin'  else — 
Mistress  Wallace  never  said  a  truer 
word.  I've  lost  a  customer,  no'  that 
I'm  gaun  to  greet  aboot  that,  for  she 
was  yin  o'  the  girnin'  sort,  aye  com- 
plainin'  an'  never  satisfied  wi'  perfec- 
tion, an'  wantin'  credit  for  auld  bashed 
tins  that  I've  got  to  fling  oot  on  the 
shore.  .  .  .  An'  there's  her  orders  lyin' 
on  the  coonter,  an'  she's  no  gaun  to  tak' 
them  noo.  It's  a  peety  I  weeghed 
them  oot,  but  she  aye  liket  to  see  her 
groceries  weeghed.  Oh,  me!  some  led- 
dies  is  ill  to  dae  wi'!  .  .  .  But  I'm  gaun 
to  ma  tea  on  Friday  nicht !  That's  whaur 
the  siller linin'  comes  in!  'Deed,  ay!" 

He  gathered  the  items  of  Miss  Perk's 

countermanded     order     together,    and 

made  them  into  one  parcel,  on  which 

he  wrote,  "Mrs.  Donald,  from  a  friend." 

245 


Jess    &    Co. 

"The  goods  is  sold,  an'  I  refuse  to 
tak'  them  back,"  he  muttered.  "I — 
I  dinna  deserve  to  be  peyed  for  them, 
onywey.  Miss  Perk  was  maybe  no'  as 
bad  as  I  thocht  she  was,  an'  nae  doot 
Mistress  Wallace  was  richt  aboot  her. 
.  .  .  An'  it's  no'  for  Samuel  Ogilvy  to 
think  evil  o'  onybody  that's  fond  o' 
Jess  Houston.  .  .  .  An'  it's  a  puir  he'rt 
that  never  rej'ices,  an'  I  canna  help  re- 
j'icin'  to  think — " 

His  meditation  was  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  his  message-boy. 

"Laddie,"  he  said,  "d'ye  ken  whaur 
Mistress  Donald  bides — her  wi'  her  man 
awa'  at  the  hospital?" 

"Ay." 

"Aweel,  tak'  this  paircel,  lay  it  on 
her  doorstep,  chap  at  the  door,  an'  rin 
awa'  as  hard's  ye  can.  If  she  catches 
ye,  I'll  think  twice  aboot  raisin'  yer 
wages  next  year.  Awa'  wi'  ye!" 

To  Mrs.  Wallace's  great  but  concealed 
relief,  she  found  her  niece  in  a  cheerful 
humor. 

Jess  was  busy  in  the  kitchen,  and  in 
reply  to  her  aunt's  inquiry  regarding 
the  whereabouts  of  the  baby,  laughed, 
and  said: 

"  Katie's  in  the  parlor  with  her  nurse." 
246 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Ye  mean  David?  I  thocht  he  wis 
extra  busy  the  noo." 

"So  he  is — just  rather  too  busy.  But 
he's  not  in  the  parlor.  Katie  has  got  a 
new  nurse." 

"Wha's  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Wallace, 
not  looking  overpleased. 

"Old  Angus." 

"Angus?  Mercy  on  us!  Ye 're  no 
leavin'  the  wean  to  him,  Jess,  shairly! 
He'll  no'  ken  whit  to  dae  wi'  her." 

"Oh,  but  he  does.  He's  been  coming 
for  the  last  few  days  and  sitting  with 
Katie  on  his  knees,  and  telling  her  queer 
old  stories  as  if  he  thought  she  understood . 
I  wasn't  quite  sure  of  him  at  first,  but  if 
you  saw  him  with  her  for  half  a  minute 
you  would  know  he  was  a  born  nurse." 

"I'll  see  fur  masel',"  muttered  Mrs. 
Wallace.  "Ye  sud  be  mair  carefu' 
aboot  the  wean,"  she  added,  sternly, 
as  she  hurried  from  the  kitchen. 

But  she  returned  ere  long,  the  sever- 
ity gone  from  her  countenance.  "  Fur  a 
man,  espaycially  a  single  man,  he's  no' 
bad,"  she  admitted.  "But  efter  the 
impiddence  he  gi'ed  me  aboot  haudin' 
a  wean,  yin  day  when  you  an*  David  wis 
awa',  I  wis  feart  Katie  wud  come  to 
hairm.  I  wunner  when  he  learnt  to 
nurse." 

247 


Jess    &    Co. 

"He  told  David  he  used  to  carry  his 
wee  sister  when  he  was  a  boy,"  said  Jess, 
gently.  "And  you  know  he  took  care 
of  her  until  she  died  this  year." 

"Ay,  ay.  Puir  auld  Angus!  It's 
mony  a  year  since  he  wis  a  laddie.  .  .  . 
Weel,  Jess,  an'  hoo's  things  gaun  wi' 
ye?" 

"All  right,  Aunt  Wallace." 

"  Is  yer  man  daein'  his  duty  an'  peyin' 
attention  to  his  business?" 

"David  always  did  that,"  said  Jess,  a 
trifle  haughtily. 

"An' whit  aboot  the  future — the  fut- 
ure ye're  aye  thinkin'  aboot,  ma  dear?" 
asked  Mrs.  Wallace,  with  unusual  ten- 
derness in  her  voice  as  she  laid  her  hand 
on  her  niece's  somewhat  thin  arm. 

"Oh!"  cried  the  young  woman,  softly. 
"If — if  I  could  only  be  sure!" 

"Are  ye  still  faur  awa'  frae  whit  ye 
want,  Jess?" 

"No,  no.  But  I'm  so  frightened 
something  will  happen  to  spoil  every- 
thing just  at  the  very  last.  If  I  could 
only  be  certain  of  a  little  more,  I  would 
be  able  to  tell  Davie  all  about  it  at  the 
New  Year.  But  I  can't  be  certain." 

"But  I  think  ye  can,"  said  her  aunt, 
quietly. 

Jess  smiled  sadly  and  shook  her  head. 
248 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Davie's  doing  his  best,  and  I'm  try- 
ing to  do  mine,  but  it  would  take  some- 
thing big  in  the  way  of  work  to  make 
the  little  more  of  profit." 

"Jess,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace,  "ye've 
never  let  yersel'  get  bate  yet." 

"And  I  don't  mean  to  get  beat,"  re- 
turned Jess,  looking  up  with  a  defiant 
laugh.  "But  I — I'm  a  wee  bit  stupid 
just  now.  I  make  things  out  worse 
than  they  are.  .  .  .  But  I  won't  give  in!" 
And  she  laughed  again. 

"Weel,  my  brave  lass,  I'm  gaun  to 
tell  ye  somethin'  that  '11  gar  ye  lauch  wi'- 
oot  ony  tryin'.  Listen  to  this."  And 
Mrs.  Wallace  told  her  little  tale  of  good 
news  forthwith. 

But  when  Jess  had  heard  it  all,  she 
sat  down  on  the  nearest  chair  and  wept 
helplessly. 


XI 

"There  was  Sadness  in  Kinlochan" 

DAVID  shook  the  snow  from  his 
coat  and  cap,  and  allowing  his  wife 
to  take  possession  of  them,  followed  her 
into  the  kitchen. 

"What  an  awful  night,  Davie!"  she 
observed. 

"Ay,  it's  dirty  weather,"  he  returned, 
standing  in  front  of  the  fire  and  wiping 
the  moisture  from  his  face.  "  Is  the  wee 
yin  sleepin'?" — turning  to  the  cradle. 

"Sound.  .  .  .  How  did  you  find  An- 
gus?" she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

Her  husband  shook  his  head.  "He's 
gey  bad.  The  doctor's  gaun  to  get 
somebody  to  bide  wi'  him  the  nicht.  I 
wud  ha'e  bided  masel',  if  it  hadna  been 
for — for — "  He  halted,  glanced  at  his 
wife,  and  sighed. 

"  For  me  ?"  said  Jess,  with  an  attempt 
at  a  smile. 

He  glanced  at  her  again,  but  she 
avoided  his  eyes,  and  he  turned  to  the 
250 


Jess    &    Co. 

fire  once  more  without  speaking,  for  her 
white  face  frightened  him. 

"There's  a  fine  fire  in  the  parlor, 
Davie,  and  your  slippers  are  toasting  on 
the  fender.  Away  and  get  warmed.  I'll 
be  after  you  in  a  minute." 

"  Wud  ye  no'  like  to  gang  to  yer  bed, 
Jess,"  he  said,  as  he  moved  slowly  to  the 
door. 

"What?     Bed  at  half-past  seven!" 

"I — I  thocht  ye  was  maybe  wearit." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!  Away  you  go  and 
have  your  smoke.  I'm  coming  to  talk 
to  you  about — about  something." 

He  stopped  at  the  door.  "Mind! 
ye 're  no'  to  touch  the  books  the  nicht," 
he  said,  seriously. 

"All  right,"  she  replied,  bending  to 
sweep  the  perfectly  tidy  hearth. 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  regarded  her 
anxiously,  then  departed  drearily  to  the 
little,  fire-lit  sitting-room. 

"I  maun  speak  to  her;  I  maun  speak 
to  her,"  he  said,  to  himself.  "She's 
whiter  every  day,  an'  she'll  no'  rest  her- 
sel'." 

He  sat  down,  like  an  exhausted  man, 
in  the  easy-chair,  and  proceeded  to  un- 
lace his  boots,  staring  miserably  the 
while  at  the  merry  fire. 

In  the  kitchen  Jess  leaned  against  the 


Jess    &    Co. 

dresser,  endeavoring  to  gain  control 
over  the  excitement  and  emotion  that 
quivered  and  throbbed  through  her 
being. 

"I  ought  to  be  laughing,"  she  thought, 
"and  I  feel  more  like  crying.  I'm  a 
stupid  thing  to  be  so  nervous  about  tell- 
ing him.  ...  I  wonder  what  he'll  say." 

Now  that  her  part,  self-conceived  so 
many  months  ago  and  so  often  mentally 
rehearsed,  was  about  to  be  played,  she 
was  seized  with  a  tremulous  shyness 
which  wellnigh  overpowered  her.  She 
felt  weak,  too.  It  was  as  if  she  had  been 
climbing  a  hard,  steep  hill  for  a  great 
reward  and  had  reached  the  summit  too 
breathless  ever  to  gasp  "I've  won!" 
And  the  simple  romance  in  her  nature 
demanded  that  she  should  make  a  little 
story  of  what  might  be  told  in  a  few 
quick  words. 

When  at  last,  after  making  sure  that 
her  baby  was  slumbering  safe  and  com- 
fortable, she  went  to  join  her  husband, 
she  entered  the  parlor  more  like  a  cul- 
prit than  a  conqueror. 

"Sit  here  an'  rest  ye,  Jess,"  begged 
David,  rising  from  the  easy-chair,  "an' 
I'll  licht  the  lamp." 

"I'm  going  to  sit  here,"  she  returned, 
taking  a  high-chair  in  the  shadow. 
252 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Ye're  gaun  to  sit  whaur  I  bid  ye, 
lass,"  he  rejoined ;  and,  stepping  forward, 
he  picked  her  up  and  deposited  her  in 
the  easy-chair.  There  was  something 
so  gentle  in  the  touch  of  his  strong  arms 
that  Jess  came  very  near  to  sobbing  out 
her  secret  there  and  then. 

But  she  contrived  to  laugh  and  say, 
"That's  where  the  master  comes  in, 
Davie.  .  .  .  But  don't  light  the  lamp  just 
now,"  she  added,  as  he  was  about  to 
put  a  paper  spill  to  the  fire. 

"What  wey,  Jess?  D'ye  no'  think 
it's  cheerier  wi'  the  lamp?" 

"I  like  the  fine  fire,  and — and  I'm 
cheery  enough  already.  Aren't  you, 
Davie?" 

He  looked  down  at  her.  Her  cheeks 
were  flushed  and  her  eyes  very  bright. 
"If  ye're  cheery,  ma  dear,  it's  a'  richt, 
an'  I'm  cheery  alang  wi'  ye.  But  I — 
I  wasna  cheery  a  wee  while  back." 

"Oh,  but  I  knew  you  were  vexed 
about  poor  Angus,  Davie.  So  was  I. 
You  had  nothing  else  to  vex  you,  had 
you?" 

David  hesitated  before  he  replied:  "I 
was  a  wee  bit  vext  aboot  yersel',  Jess." 

"About  me?" 

"Ay.     Tell  me — are  ye  as  weel  an' 
happy  noo  as  ye  was  a  year  syne?" 
253 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Of  course!  Indeed,  I'm  far  happier 
— and  I  couldn't  be  that  if  I  wasn't  well, 
could  I ?" 

"Ye're  no'  as  rosy  as  ye  used  to  be, 
Jess,"  he  said,  abruptly. 

"Am  I  not?"  she  laughed.  "Well, 
after  to-night,  to  please  you,  I'll  begin 
to  get  rosy  again,  if  I  have  to  use  sand- 
paper. Wait  and  you'll  see!  Now  sit 
down  and  light  your  pipe,  and  tell  me 
what's  to  be  done  about  Angus.  Did 
you  tell  him  I  was  coming  to  see  him  to- 
morrow?" 

"I  did  that,  an'  he  was  rale  pleased, 
but—" 

"But  what?" 

"Aw,  naethin'.  He'll  be  rale  pleased 
to  see  ye  the  morn." 

"That's  not  all  he  said,  Davie.  You 
better  tell  me  the  rest." 

"Ye '11  no  be  offendit  wi'  the  puir 
buddy?  He's  gey  auld,  ye  ken." 

"No,  no.     I'll  not  be  offended." 

"Weel,  he  said  he  wud  be  prood  to 
see  ye,  but  wud  ye  please  no'  bring  him 
ony  nourishin'  soup." 

"Oh!"  Jess  smiled;  then,  becoming 
grave,  said,  "But  did  the  doctor  not 
order  him  to  get  soup?" 

"Ay.  But  Angus  doesna  like  soup, 
an'  forbye  it  tak's  him  a'  his  time  to  swal- 
254 


Jess    &    Co. 

low  what  he  gets  frae  yer  aunt.  She's 
unco'  guid  til  him,  he  says,  but  he  canna 
tak'  mair  nor  what  he's  gettin',  an'  twa- 
three  folk  wants  to  gi'e  him  soup  forbye 
her.  But,  Jess,  lass,  he  said  if  it  was  a' 
the  same  to  yersel',  he  wud  rather  ye 
brocht  the  wee  yin  when  ye  gaed  to  see 
him." 

"Of  course  I  will,"  she  said,  softly. 
"But  Angus  isn't  in  danger,  is  he?" 

"He  needs  to  be  ta'en  care  o'.  But 
Ogilvy's  gaun  to  help  us  to  see  that  he 
disna  want  onythin'.  'Deed,  Jess,  I 
whiles  think  Sam  Ogilvy's  the  best  man 
I  ken." 

"I  think  he  is,  Davie.  .  .  .  He  was 
telling  me  to-day  he  had  heard  that  old 
John  Davidson  was  thinking  of  giving 
up  his  nursery  business."  For  an  instant 
Jess  allowed  her  eyes  to  rest  on  her  hus- 
band's face. 

"Ay;  I  heard  somethin'  aboot  that. 
He  wants  to  sell  his  place,  for  he's  get- 
tin'  auld,  an'  he  had  some  siller  left  him 
a  year  syne.  Some  stranger  '11  likely  get 
the  place."  The  joiner  seated  himself 
and  produced  his  pipe,  but  did  not  light 
it.  He  leaned  forward,  gazing  into  the 
fire. 

His  wife  watched  him  stealthily,  and, 
after  a  little,  remarked  in  a  casual  tone: 
255 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I  suppose  it's  a  fine  nursery?" 

"It  micht  be  made  a  fine  yin,  if  the 
man  that  had  it  was  keen,"  he  returned, 
the  least  thing  moodily. 

Jess  smiled.  "As  keen  as  yourself, 
Davie?" 

David  glanced  at  her  and  gave  a 
laugh  that  ended  in  a  sigh.  "I  doot 
I'm  no'  that  keen  nooadays,  lass." 

"Oh,  Davie!" — reproachfully. 

Houston  sat  upright,  as  if  pulling  him- 
self together,  and  fished  a  match  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket.  As  he  struck  it 
against  the  bowl  of  his  pipe,  Jess  bent 
her  head  lest  he  should  see  her  face  in 
the  light. 

"Ye  ken  fine  I'm  no'  that  keen," 
he  said,  after  he  had  set  his  pipe 
going. 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Weel,  ye'll  ken  afore  lang,  for  I  tell 
ye,  Jess,  the  gairden  '11  be  a  disgrace  this 
year,"  he  said,  with  sad  emphasis — "a 
disgrace!" 

"But  you  mustn't  forget  the  flower 
shows,  D'avie." 

"I'm  done  wi'  shows,  I'm  done  wi' 
gairdens,  I'm  done  wi' — " 

"No;  you're  not!" 

"But  I  am!  ...  Oh,  ye  needna  think 
I'm  vext,  ma  dear.  I  jist  wish  I  had 
256 


Jess    &    Co. 

stoppit  the  gairdenin'  lang  syne.     I  dae 
that!" 

"Oh!" 

"But  I'm  tellin'  ye  the  truth." 

"But — but  why?" 

Without  having  lit  his  pipe, David  threw 
the  burned  match  into  the  fire.  "  Because 
gairdenin's  no'  ma  trade,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  "an' — an'  I  had  nae  business 
play  in'  masel'  when  you — when  you — 

"Oh,  Davie,  lad!"  she  cried,  greatly 
moved. 

"Jess,  Jess,  ye  ken  what  I  mean.  I 
canna  say  it.  I'm  ashamed  before  ye. 
.  .  .  An'  I  wantit  to  be  a  guid  man  to  ye, 
wife."  He  bent  forward  and  hid  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

For  the  moment  she  could  not  speak, 
even  to  try  to  comfort  him,  but  she 
leaned  towards  him  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his  hair. 

"Wife,"  he  said,  huskily. 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  whispered. 

"Are  ye  sorry  ye  mairrit  me?" 

In  the  fulness  of  her  emotion  she 
laughed  softly — laughed  as  if  she  had 
been  asked  a  question  too  ridiculous  to 
be  answered  in  words. 

His  hands  came  slowly  from  his  face; 
his  eyes  regarded  her  with  infinite  won- 
der and  affection. 

257 


Jess    &    Co. 

"What  kin'  o'  wumman  are  ye?"  he 
murmured. 

"The  proudest  and  happiest  in  the 
world,"  she  said,  brokenly,  and  in  her 
turn  hid  her  face. 

"Ah,  Jess,  dinna  mak'  a  joke  aboot 
it,"  he  exclaimed,  rising  and  placing  his 
hands  on  her  shoulders.  "Hoo  can  ye 
be  prood  an'  happy?" 

"Because  you've  won,  Davie!" 

"Won!     What  ha'e  I  won?" 

She  was  silent  awhile,  but  at  last  she 
said,  gently,  still  keeping  her  face  from 
him,  "Sit  down,  Davie,  and  I'll  try  to 
tell  you." 

Wondering,  he  went  back  to  his  chair. 

She  uncovered  her  face,  and  twining 
her  fingers  in  her  lap  sat  gazing  into  the 
fire. 

"Light  your  pipe,  Davie,"  she  said, 
breaking  a  silence. 

David  obeyed  in  a  mechanical  fash- 
ion, glancing  at  her  in  a  puzzled  manner. 

Presently  she  abruptly  put  the  ques- 
tion: "Are  you  not  tired  of  being  a  join- 
er yet,  Davie?" 

"Eh?  Tired  o'  bein'  a  jiner?"  he 
echoed,  in  amazement.  "What  d'ye 
mean,  Jess?" 

"Just  what  I  said." 

"But  what  wud  I  be  tired  o'  ma 
258 


Jess    &    Co. 

trade  for?  Na,  na!  I  doot  ye're  makin' 
fun  o'  me,  ma  lass.  Maybe  you're  tired 
o'  me  bein'  a  jiner,"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh . 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"What?" 

"I'm  tired  of  you  being  a  joiner," 
said  Jess,  seriously. 

Her  husband  stared  at  her.  "Bless 
me!  What  '11  ye  be  say  in'  next?" 

"I'll  be  saying  I  don't  think  you 
should  be  a  joiner  any  longer.  And  I 
say  it!"  she  replied,  quietly. 

His  face,  which  had  been  animated  by 
surprise  and  curiosity,  became  gloomy. 

"Aw,  Jess,  am  I  as  bad  as  a'  that?" 
he  asked,  sadly.     "I — I  thocht  I  had 
been  daein'  better  this  wee  while  back. 
.  .  .  Jess,  ma  dear." 

Jess  did  not  reply  immediately.  Her 
fingers  tightened  against  each  other. 

"Yes,  Davie.  But  you've  been  neg- 
lecting the  garden,"  she  said,  calmly. 

An  exclamation  burst  from  her  hus- 
band's lips.  "What  ails  ye,  Jess?" 

"I  want  a  garden,  Davie — a  nice  gar- 
den." 

"Weel,  weel!"  he  cried,  in  despair. 

"  I  think  you  should  stop  being  a  join- 
er and  be  a  gardener,  Davie." 

He  stared  at  her,  speechless. 
259 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Don't  you  think  so,  too?"  she  con- 
tinued. "You  could  give  up  the  shop, 
and  then — " 

"Oh,  ma  dear,"  he  sighed,  rising  in 
alarm,  "I  was  shair  ye  wasna'  weel. 
Wull  ye  no'  gang  to  yer  bed,  an'  I — I'll 
mak'  ye  a  nice  warm  drink?  Come, 
dearie;  ye're  jist  worn  oot.  Ye've  been 
workin'  ower  hard,  an'  I  sudna  ha'e  let 
ye.  Come." 

Mrs.  Houston  very  nearly  broke  down 
in  her  little  part,  and  narrowly  escaped 
flinging  her  arms  about  her  husband's 
neck  and  relapsing  into  incoherency. 
But  with  a  strong  effort  she  recovered 
and  restrained  herself. 

"I'm  all  right,  and  I'm  quite  serious 
about  the  garden.  Sit  down  again, 
Davie;  sit  down,  and  tell  me  exactly 
what  you  think." 

Unwillingly  he  resumed  his  seat,  only 
doing  so  after  reflecting  that  it  might 
be  wise  to  humor  her. 

"What  do  you  think?"  she  asked. 

"  Aweel,  ma  deer,  I  wud  be  pleased  to 
dae  onythin'  ye  want,  but  ye  maun  keep 
min'  that  I  wudna  get  muckle  pey  for 
workin'  in  the  gairden,"  he  said,  speak- 
ing gently,  and  as  pleasantly  as  possible. 
"Ye  maun  keep  min'  o'  that.  An'  I 
doot" — with  a  feeble  smile — "yersel' 
260 


Jess    &    Co. 

an'  the  wee  yin  wudna  get  fat  on  floo'- 
ers.  Wud  ye?" 

"But  you  could  sell  your  flowers,  and 
you  could  grow  and  sell  plenty  of  other 
things  as  well." 

' '  The  wee  gairden  wudna  grow  enough 
to  keep  ye  in  saut  an'  sugar." 

"You  could  get  a  bigger  garden"  she 
returned,  in  a  steady  voice.  "You 
could  take  over  Mr.  Davidson's  nur- 
sery." 

"Ay,  dearie,"  he  said,  smiling  to  con- 
ceal his  anguish,  "I  could  tak'  ower  the 
nursery  fine — if  I  had  the  siller.  But 
I'll  ha'e  to  bide  a  wee  for  that." 

"Some  one  else  '11  get  the  nursery." 

"Ay,  nae  doot  somebody  wull.  But 
we'll  no'  heed  aboot  that,  Jess.  We'll 
jist  gang  on  as  we  are  the  noo,  an'  I'll 
try  to  gi'e  the  gairden  a  tidy  up  some 
day  shin,  an'  mak'  it  as  braw  as  I  can 
for  the  simmer.  Noo,  ma  dear,  yell 
gang  to  yer  bed,  an'  I'll — " 

"Sit  still,  Davie,"  said  his  wife;  but 
now  her  voice  was  beginning  to  tremble. 
"I'll  not  move  from  here  till  you  prom- 
ise to  be  a  gardener — till  you  promise  to 
sell  the  shop  and  buy  the  nursery.  Do 
you  hear  that?"  There  was  no  mis- 
taking her  earnestness. 

"Oh,  Jess!"  he  muttered,  helplessly. 
261 


Jess    &    Co. 

To  think  that  the  old  temptation  of  his 
secret  heart  should  be  set  before  him 
by  his  wife! 

' '  I  believe  the  Wilkies  would  buy  the 
shop  if  you  would  give  them  easy  terms 
for  payment — are  you  listening,  Davie  ? 
— and  I  don't  think  Mr.  Davidson 
would  be  hard  to  deal  with,"  said  Jess, 
her  heart  beating  violently,  her  body 
quivering. 

"Hoo  dae  ye  ken  a'  that,  lass?" 

"I — I  made  inquiries." 

David  drew  a  long  breath.  So  it  was 
really  her  desire  that  he  should  make 
the  change. 

"Are  you  vexed  with  me  for  inter- 
fering?" she  inquired,  nervously. 

"Na,  na,  ma  dear.  I  can  aye  trust 
ye.  But,  oh,  Jess,  ye've  been  thinkin' 
o'  me  afore  yessel'.  D'ye  no'  ken  the 
risk  a  man  rins  changin'  his  trade  ? 
There's  a  while  afore  he  gets  properly 
settled  in  the  new  trade,  an'  I  doot  I 
wud  ha'e  to  pay  Davidson  mair  nor  ever 
I  wud  get  frae  the  Wilkies.  ...  I  see 
what  ye've  been  tryin'  to  dae  for  me, 
ma  dear,  an'  I'll  never  forget  it,  but  the 
thing  canna  be — it  canna  be." 

"Oh  yes,  Davie,"  she  said,  faintly, 
as  she  slipped  her  hand  within  her  blouse, 
"I've  been  thinking  of  myself  and  Katie 
263 


Jess   &    Co. 

as  well  as  you.  I've  found  out  that  the 
nursery  would  soon  bring  us  more  than 
we've  got;  and  you've  made  your  busi- 
ness worth  buying,  and  with  a  little 
more  money  you  would  be  quite  safe  to 
change." 

"Ay,  lass,"  said  David,  wrestling  with 
himself — "  ay,  lass,  I  think  I  micht  mak' 
somethin'  oot  o'  the  nursery,  but  it  was 
you  made  ma  business  worth  buyin'. 
.  .  .  But  it  canna  be — it  canna  be  yet, 
onywey.  If  we  had  fifty  pound  laid  by, 
I  wudna  be  sae  feart,  but — " 

"Give  me  your  hand,  Davie,"  she 
whispered. 

"Ay,  Jess.  Are  ye  for  yer  bed  noo? 
.  .  .  Eh?  What's  this?"  Something 
crackled  ever  so  softly. 

"Look,"  she  whispered.  "Count 
them." 

' '  Oh,  wife !  Whaur  did  this  come  frae  ? 
Five  —  ten  —  fifteen  —  twinty — twinty- 
five.  .  .  .  God!  A  hunner  pound!" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  trembling. 
"Whaur  did  it  come  frae,  Jess?" 

"You  made  it — you  made  it!  For- 
give me  not  telling  you,  Davie.  I — I 
wanted  to  surprise  you.  I  wanted  to 
help  a  little  without  letting  you  know. 
Don't  be  angry,  lad."  She  broke  down 
then — broke  down  utterly. 
263 


Jess    &    Co. 

"/  made  it?"  stammered  David,  half 
stunned  by  surprise.  "/  made  a"  this 
money?" 

"Nearly  all  of  it,  Davie — nearly  all  of 
it,"  she  sobbed,  as  though  to  excuse 
herself.  "I  made  a — a  little  of  it — just 
a  little.  Don't  be  angry  at  me  for  not 
telling  you." 

"Angry?  ...  Ma  dear!"  He  dropped 
on  his  knees  by  the  side  of  her  chair 
and  sought  to  wipe  away  her  tears.  .  .  . 
"Oh,  Jess,  I  aye  said  ye  was  a  great 
wumman." 

"And  you're  not  vexed  with  me?" 
she  murmured,  presently. 

"I'm  jist  vext  wi'  masel',  Jess,"  he 
said,  a  little  sadly,  kissing  her.  "Ma 
wife's  that  guid  to  me  I  dinna  ken  what 
to  say.  Oh,  but  I'm  gled  I'm  no'  an 
auld  man!" 

"I'm  glad  you're  not,  Davie,"  she  re- 
turned, with  a  tender  smile.  "  But  don't 
be  .vexed,  lad,  for  you've  nothing  to  be 
vexed  about.  You've  succeeded,  and 
I — oh,  I  was  never  so — so  proud  and 
happy  in  all  my  life!  .  .  .  My  dear,  good 
man,"  she  added,  as  he  protested  his 
selfishness  in  the  past,  "haud  yer  tongue 
an'  dinna  haver  like  a  sweetie-wife!" 

Her  little  speech  in  the  vernacular  was 
meant  to  make  him  smile,  but,  somehow, 
264 


Jess    &    Co. 

it  touched  him  almost  to  tears,  and  he 
bowed  his  face  on  her  breast,  bereft  of 
utterance. 

Jess  lay  back  in  her  chair  with  a  sigh 
of  contentment,  and  laid  her  arm  about 
his  neck.  So  they  remained,  scarcely 
moving,  never  speaking,  while  the  fire 
burned  lower  and  lower. 

It  was  not  till  he  felt  her  arm  relax 
that  David  raised  his  head  to  look  upon 
her  face  and  to  ask  the  question  which 
had  been  the  most  insistent  of  the  many 
in  his  mina. 

"Jess,  ma  dear,  wull  ye  tell  me  hoo  ye 
managed  to  mak' —  Jess!  are  ye  sleep- 
in'?"  he  whispered. 

A  coal  fell;  a  flame  flared  up,  illumi- 
nating her  face. 

"Jess!  .  .  .  Wife!"  he  cried,  in  terror. 

But  Jess  neither  stirred  nor  spoke. 

There  was  sadness  in  Kinlochan. 

Jess  Houston  lay  ill,  and  the  doctor 
was  puzzled  almost  to  hopelessness. 
"If  Houston  were  only  well  off,"  he 
said  to  himself,  at  last,  "  I  would  suggest 
Matheson."  But  it  was  the  joiner  him- 
self who  first  made  the  suggestion  for 
further  medical  aid. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  doctor's 
fourth  evening  visit — he  had  been  call- 
265 


\ 

Jess    &    Co. 

ing  thrice  a  day — David  went  with  him 
through  the  dusk  to  the  garden  gate. 

"Doctor,"  he  said,  huskily,  "I  jist 
wantit  to  let  ye  ken  I've  some  siller 
here — a  hunner  pound."  He  produced 
the  notes  which  he  had  found  on  the 
parlor  floor  the  day  following  his  wife's 
seizure.  "Doctor,  is  it  ony  use?"  he 
asked,  anxiously. 

The  doctor  cleared  his  throat.  "I 
was  just  thinking  that  you  might  like 
Dr.  Matheson — the  most  skilful  man  in 
such  cases — to  see  Mrs.  Houston,  and — 
er — er — I  was  sure  you  would  not  grudge 
any  fee  for  his  advice.  Shall  I  com- 
municate with  him  to-night?" 

"Ay:  the  nicht,  doctor,  please,"  said 
David,  eagerly. 

"Very  well.  .  .  No,  no!  Keep  the 
money  in  the  mean  time.  .  .  .  And  cheer 
up,  Houston.  Don't  mind  anything 
your  wife  may  say,  and  don't  mention 
anything  in  the  way  of  your  business, 
however  pleasant.  Let  her  go  on  think- 
ing you're  a  gardener — not  a  joiner. 
And  her  aunt  must  do  the  same.  It 
seems  to  content  her.  .  .  .  Now  I'll  go 
and  wire  to  the  man  who's  most  certain 
to  help  us.  Good-night." 

The  doctor  hurried  off,  and  David 
was  on  his  way  back  to  the  cottage 
266 


Jess    &    Co. 

when  a  high  voice  recalled  him  to  the 
gate. 

"  How  is  your  wife  to-night  ?"  inquired 
Miss  Perk.  "I  was  coming  to  ask,  but 
perhaps  you  can  tell  me  without  my 
troubling  Mrs.  Wallace." 

He  had  told  her  all  there  was  to  tell 
of  the  doctor's  report,  adding  that  the 
great  specialist  was  being  telegraphed 
for. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that.  It  is  the 
right  thing  to  do,  but — "  For  once 
Miss  Perk  checked,  nay,  strangled  in  its 
birth,  a  question  prompted  by  her  cu- 
riosity, the  question  being,  "How  can 
you  afford  it?"  To  her  everlasting 
credit  be  the  strangling  of  that  question, 
for,  alas !  the  poor  lady  has  been  haunted 
by  its  ghost  ever  since. 

Before  leaving  the  gate  she  put  other 
questions  of  a  sympathetic  nature,  and 
finally,  in  softer  tones  than  Hous- 
ton had  ever  heard  her  employ,  she 
said: 

"Tell  Mrs.  Wallace  not  to  let  your 
wife  want  anything.  Tell  her  to  let  me 
know  if  I  can  be  of — of  any  use  what- 
ever." vStrange  that  Miss  Perk  said 
"use"  when  she  might  have  said  "as- 
sistance"! 

David  returned  to  the  cottage  a  little 

is  267 


Jess    &    Co. 

less  hopeless,  a  little  less  dreary  than  he 
had  left  it. 

On  an  evening  a  fortnight  later  Mrs. 
Wallace  stepped  into  the  grocer's  shop, 
interrupting  Mr.  Ogilvy  in  his  occupa- 
tion of  pacing  up  and  down  behind  the 
counter. 

"Ah,  Mistress  Wallace,  I'm  rale  glad 
to  see  ye,"  he  said,  his  sad,  wearied  eyes 
brightening.  "Is  there  any  word?" 

"Ay,  I  jist  cam'  in  fur  a  meenit  to 
tell  ye  that  David  got  a  letter  the  nicht 
frae  the  nurse.  Her  an'  Jess  arrived  a' 
richt,  an'  Jess  is  nane  the  waur  o'  the 
journey." 

"That's  guid  news!  David  '11  be 
unco  pleased." 

"Deed,  ay.  The  puir  lad's  thenkful 
for  the  least  cheery  word  the  noo.  It's 
a  sad  time  for  us  a'.  .  .  .  An'  puir  auld 
Angus  is  awa',"  sighed  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"Early  this  mornin',"  said  Mr.  Ogil- 
vy, in  a  low  voice,  carefully  examining 
the  point  of  his  pencil. 

"He  sudna  ha'e  been  oot  that  day." 

"Ah,  but  he  wud  get  up  an'  gang  to 
see  Jess  afore  she  gaed  on  the  boat.  He 
sent  Mistress  Munro  oot  a  message,  say- 
in'  he  was  gaun  to  ha'e  a  bit  nap,  an'  he 
maun  ha'e  rose  an'  pit  on  his  claes  when- 
ever her  back  was  turned.  I  got  an 
268 


Jess    &    Co. 

awfu'  fricht  when  I  seen  him  comin' 
doon  to  the  pier,  mair  like  a  ghaist  nor 
a  man,  but  no'  unhappy-like — no'  un- 
happy-like.  But,  oh,  Mistress  Wallace, 
the  wey  he  smiled  when  he  seen  Jess. 
It  wasna  like  an  auld  wearit  man  ava'. 
.  .  .  Puir  auld  Angus." 

"It  wis  yersel'  got  him  hame,  wis  it 
no'?" 

"Ay.  He  had  a  wee  rest  in  the  shop, 
an'  then  I  got  Geordie  to  yoke  the  horse, 
for  he  was  gey  faur  through.  At  first  I 
was  angry  at  him,  but  I  hadna  the  he'rt 
to  scold  him.  He  was  aye  lukin'  up  in 
ma  face  an'  say  in',  'It's  fine  for  you, 
Ogilvy;  ye'll  see  her  when  she  comes 
hame.'" 

"He  wis  rale  ta'en  up  wi'  Jess,"  Mrs. 
Wallace  gently  observed.  "  She  wis  aye 
kind  to  him.  .  .  .  Eh!  but  I  wish  the  lass 
was  hame  again!" 

"Angus  left  me  a  message  for  her," 
said  the  grocer,  "but  I  had  to  promise 
no'  to  gi'e  it  to  onybody  but  hersel',  an' 
I  wasna  to  say  what  it  was  about,  aither. 
Hoo  lang  d'ye  think  she'll  be  awa' ?" 

"Three  month,  the  doctor  said.  But, 
oh!  Maister  Ogilvy,  dae  ye  think  she'll 
get  better  in  a  strange  place,  never  seein' 
her  man  nor  her  wean  ?"  she  cried,  ap- 
pealingly.  "  I  whiles  think  we  sud  never 
269 


Jess    &    Co. 

ha'e  let  them  tak'  her  awa',  an'  I'm 
feart  they'll  no'  treat  her  weel.  I'm  no' 
hadin'  wi'  thae  new-fashioned  notions." 

"Aw,  ye  mauna  let  yersel'  be  cast 
down,  Mistress  Wallace,"  he  replied, 
with  far  more  cheerfulness  than  he  felt. 
"The  doctors  ken  mair  nor  you  an'  me, 
an'  we  maun  jist  boo  to  their  shuperior 
scienteefic  judgment,  as  it  were.  Ye'll 
see  Jess  when  the  time  comes,  but  may- 
be ye '11  no'  ken  her — she'll  be  that  weel 
an'  strong.  'Deed,  ay.  Fine  ye  ken 
Jess  wud  never  tak'  the  richt  kin  o'  rest 
in  her  ain  hoose.  The  vera  sicht  o' 
fameeliar  objec's,  so  to  speak,  wud  mak' 
her  restless.  An'  thon's  a  fine  nurse 
she's  got  wi'  her." 

"Mphm.  I've  naethin'  to  say  agin 
the  nurse,  though  I  got  mair  impiddence 
frae  her  in  ten  meenits  nor  I've  listened 
to  in  a'  ma  born  days.  Ma  certy!  I 
wis  jist  like  a  bit  o'  dirt  i'  the  hoose 
when  she  wis  there.  I  daurna  tak'  a 
keek  at  Jess  wi'oot  the  nurse's  permee- 
sion.  An'  when  Jess's  mither  cam'  to 
see  her,  she  wis  treat't  the  same  wey. 
But  I'll  say  this  fur  the  nurse — she  wis 
aye  tidy  an'  clean  an'  cheery.  An' 
David  wis  like  her  servant  frae  the  day 
she  cam'  inside  the  door.  But  whiles 
I  cud  ha'e  gi'ed  her  a  guid  warm  skelpin' 
270 


Jess    &    Co. 

when  she  gi'ed  me  orders — an'  me  auld 
enough  to  be  her  mither!" 

"Aw,  she  wasna  as  young  as  a'  that, 
Mistress  Wallace,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy, 
bashfully. 

"  I  beg  yer  paurdon  ?" 

"Oh,  naethin',"  he  replied,  hurriedly. 
"But  does  Jess  like  her?" 

"I'll  no'  say  she  disna.  But  I  doot 
she'll  no'  be  able  to  keep  Jess  frae 
weary  in'." 

"Maybe  she'll  keep  Jess  frae  worry- 
in',"  said  the  grocer,  more  hopefully, 
"an'  that's  the  chief  thing." 

Mrs.  Wallace  shook  her  head.  "Jess 
kens  ower  weel  whit  she's  costin'  her 
man,  an'  I'm  feart  she'll  be  broodin' 
ower  him  no'  gettin'  the  nursery.  It's 
unco  sair  on  her,  puir  lass,  efter  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  it  wis  a'  richt." 

"An'  she  wrocht  that  hard  for  it,"  Mr. 
Ogilvy  remarked,  with  a  sigh.  "  Can  ye 
no'  persuade  David  to  tak'  the  len'  o" 
the  siller  frae  me  ?  As  I  said  to  him,  he 
can  pey  interest  if  he's  ower  prood  to 
dae  itherwise." 

"Na;  it's  nae  use.  David  winna  tak' 
yer  siller,  Maister  Ogilvy;  no'  but  whit 
he's  obleeged  to  ye  fur  the  offer.  He 
says  he'll  jist  stick  to  the  jinerin'.  I 
wis  vext  fur  him  the  ither  nicht  when 
271 


Jess    &    Co. 

he  fun  oot  that  Jess  had  been  gettin' 
wark  frae  her  auld  maister  in  the  toon — " 

"Oh,  me!     To  think  o'  that!" 

"I  never  kent  onythin'  aboot  it,  but 
she's  been  workin'  at  mair  books  nor 
her  man's.  Hauf  the  siller  she  gi'ed 
David  that  nicht  she  fent  it  cam'  frae 
her  auld  maister.  But  I  wis  vext  fur 
David.  I'm  no'  jist  shair  if  Jess  wis 
richt  to  keep  everything  back  frae  him. 
Whit  dae  ye  think  yersel',  Maister  Ogil- 
vy?" 

The  grocer  hesitated. 

"Mind!  Ye're  no'  to  think  I'm 
blamin'  Jess,  the  puir  lass,  fur  she  in- 
tendit  it  a'  fur  the  best,  but  dae  ye 
think  it  wis  wice  o'  her?" 

When  asked  for  an  opinion  Mr.  Ogil- 
vy  could  not,  as  a  rule,  refrain  from 
giving  the  same  in  lofty  style. 

"Mistress  Wallace,"  he  said,  solemnly, 
"ye  ask  a  question  which  is  an'  exceed- 
in'  deeficult  yin,  inasmuch  as  I've  nae 
experience  in  the  maitter  involved,  never 
ha'ein'  tastit  o'  the  joys  o'  matrimony, 
as  it  were.  But  I  may  say — " 

"Tits!" 

"Aweel,  I — I  was  gaun  to  say  that  I 
think  it's  ower  shin  to  say  whether  Mis- 
tress Houston  was  wice  or  no'." 

"My!"  exclaimed  the  other,  in  a  pity- 
272 


Jess    &    Co. 

ing  tone,  "ye're  whiles  an  unco  blether, 
Maister  Ogilvy.  'Never  tastit  o'  the 
joys  o'  matrimony' — did  ye  no'?" 

"Weel — a — it's  no'  ma  fau't,"  he 
stammered  feebly,  endeavoring  to  raise 
his  eyes  to  her  face  but  failing  utterly. 

"Ha'e  ye  ony  nice  ham  the  day?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Wallace,  abruptly. 

"Ham?"  he  echoed,  in  confusion. 

"Shairly  ye  ken  whit  ham  is!" 

"Ham — oh,  ay.     I've  plenty  ham." 

"Is't  guid?" 

"Ay,  it's  guid,"  he  replied,  without 
enthusiasm.  He  was  altogether  de- 
pressed. 

"I'll  tak'  hauf  a  pun,  if  ye  please." 

He  cut  and  weighed  the  ham  in  silence, 
while  Mrs.  Wallace  watched  him  not  un- 
kindly. 

"Maister  Ogilvy,"  she  said,  on  receiv- 
ing the  small  parcel,  "ye're  a  tired  man. 
Shut  yer  shop  and  gang  to  yer  bed.  Ye 
wasna  there  last  nicht,  I  suppose." 

"Aw,  it's  no'  the  flesh  that's  wearit, 
Mistress  Wallace,"  he  returned,  sadly. 

"Maybe  it's  the  banes,"  she  retorted, 
cruelly;  but  the  next  moment  she  said, 
in  an  altered  voice,  "  I  ken  fine  ye're  vext 
about  mdny  things,  Maister  Ogilvy,  an' 
I'm  vext  masel'.  But  we  mauna  de- 
spair. In  a  wee  while  we'll  ha'e  Jess  an' 
273 


Jess    &    Co. 

David  thegither  again — I'm  share  we 
wull,  an'  that  '11  mak'  up  fur  a  lot.  Wull 
it  no'?" 

His  face  cleared  somewhat.  "It  wull 
that!"  he  said,  heartily.  "An'  maybe 
Jess  '11  get  a'  she  wants  yet,  and  David  11 
forget  a'  his  troubles,  though  they're 
mony  an'  black  the  noo." 

"An'  ye've  made  me  feel  better,  Mis- 
tress Wallace.  Ye've  dispelled  ma  su- 
perabundant gloom,  as  it  were.  In  fac', 
I'm  gaun  to  hope  for  the  best — the  vera 
best!" 

"An'  I'll  dae  the  same,"  said  Mrs. 
Wallace,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"Guid-nicht  to  ye,  Mistress  Wallace. 
.  .  .  We — we'll  hope  thegither." 

After  her  departure,  Mr.  Ogilvy  had 
several  customers,  and  having  served 
the  last  of  them,  he  put  up  the  shutters, 
locked  the  door,  put  out  the  lamps,  and 
retired  to  the  back  room,  where  he 
brewed  himself  a  cup  of  tea. 

"She  was  richt,"  he  said,  to  himself; 
"I'm  a  tired  man.  .  .  .  But  I'm  no'  done 
for  yet."  And  he  drank  his  tea  slowly, 
and  thought  much.  His  last  thought 
before  going  to  bed  was  of  old  Angus, 
who  the  previous  night  had  handed  him 
a  small  tin  box  containing  a  number 
of  greasy  one-pound  notes,  several  half- 
274 


Jess    &    Co. 

sovereigns,  and  a  small  handful  of  silver, 
together  with  a  piece  of  paper  laborious- 
ly inscribed  with  the  following: 

"I  leav  to  Mrs.  Houston,  wife  of  David 
Houston,  joiner,  Kinlochan,  15  ponds  — 
With  thanks, 

"ANGUS  FRASER." 

"Fifteen  pound,"  sighed  the  grocer, 
as  he  closed  his  eyes.  "Puir  Angus! 
he  did  his  best.  He'll  rest  happy.  .  .  . 
His  bit  siller  '11  no'  be  refused." 

He  sighed  again,  and  was  on  the  verge 
of  falling  asleep  when  a  mouse  began  to 
gnaw  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room.  The 
sound  was  nothing  new  to  him,  but  on 
this  occasion  he  found  it  peculiarly  ir- 
ritating, and  after  flinging  both  his  shoes 
into  the  corner,  and  emitting  several 
expressions  of  which  he  was  ashamed, 
all  in  vain,  he  realized  that  he  was  wide 
awake,  and  became  almost  as  restless  as 
the  mouse. 

Miserable,  he  sat  up  in  bed  and  felt 
for  his  pipe  and  matches.  But  he  never 
drew  them  from  the  pocket  of  his  jacket, 
for  at  the  moment  of  contact  between 
his  fingers  and  his  pipe  a  wonderful  idea 
struck  him — not  that  it  came  from  the 
pipe.  Indeed,  to  this  day  he  tells  him- 
self that  it  came  from  the  mouse,  though 
275 


Jess    &    Co. 

as  a  matter  of  fact,  were  he  to  discuss 
the  matter — which  he  would  not — with 
the  greatest  of  mental  philosophers,  the 
greatest  of  mental  philosophers  would 
probably  refer  him  to  the  greatest  of 
mental  physicians.  But  perhaps  Mr. 
Ogilvy  thinks  of  the  mouse  that  assisted 
the  entangled  lion. 

At  any  rate  what  happened  was  this. 
The  grocer  sat  motionless  for  nigh  a 
minute.  Then  he  drew  that  which  was 
perhaps  the  longest  breath  of  his  life. 
Then  he  raised  his  right  hand  above  his 
head,  and  brought  it  down  with  a  sound- 
ing thwhack  upon  his  leg,  and  in  a  jubi- 
lant burst  addressed  himself  in  these 
words : 

"Samuel  Ogilvy,  ye're  a  genius!" 


XII 
Home   Again 

"1~"\AVID  was  lukin'  like  a  new  man 
I—/  when  he  gaed  on  board  the  boat 
the  day,"  remarked  Mr.  Ogilvy,  who, 
having  shut  his  shop  an  hour  earlier  than 
usual,  had  dropped  in  at  Hazel  Cottage 
to  discuss  the  happy  event  of  the  mor- 
row with  its  temporary  mistress. 

"  It  wud  be  a  peety  if  he  had  lukit  like 
an  auld  yin  when  he  wis  gaun  aff  to 
bring  hame  his  wife  efter  never  seein' 
her  fur  near  three  month,"  returned 
Mrs.  Wallace,  pausing  in  the  act  of  dust- 
ing the  parlor  mantel  -  piece.  "I  daur 
say  ye  wud  ha'e  a  crack  wi'  him,"  she 
continued,  "fur  he  left  here  faur  ower 
shin  fur  the  boat — no'  but  whit  I  wis 
gled  to  see  him  oot  the  hoose,  fur  he  wis 
dancin'  aboot  like  a  hen  on  a  het  girdle 
since  the  time  he  got  up  i'  the  mornin', 
puir  man." 

"He  appeared  to  be  in  a  high-strung 
condeetion,  as  it  were,  when  I  seen  him," 
277 


Jess    &    Co. 

said  the  grocer,  "but,  as*ye  say,  it  wud 
be  a  peety  if  he  wasna  upliftit  wi'  the 
exceedin'  joyous  prospec'  o'  the  morn. 
He  was  tellin'  me  him  an'  the  guidwife 
wud  arrive  aboot  fower  o'clock." 

"Ay.  An'  it  '11  tak'  me  a'  ma  time  to 
be  ready  fur  them,"  muttered  Mrs.  Wal- 
lace, resuming  her  dusting  with  great 
vigor. 

"I — I  hope  I'm  no'  in  yer  road,  Mis- 
tress Wallace,"  Mr.  Ogilvy  said,  from  the 
easy-chair,  as  the  duster  came  near  to 
flapping  in  his  face. 

"Ay,  ye're  in  ma  road.  Awa',  an' 
tak'  a  sate  on  the  sofa.  Ye  had  nae 
business  sittin'  doon  in  the  easy-chair  an' 
crumplin'  the  braw  tidy  wi'  your  big, 
silly  heid.  A  man's  waur  nor  a  dizzen 
weans  when  ye're  wantin'  to  mak' 
things  nate." 

"I'm  shair  I'm  vext  to  ha'e  incom- 
modit  ye  to  sic  a  serious  extent,"  he 
said,  somewhat  sulkily,  as  he  took  the 
seat  indicated. 

"Man,  man,  ye  needna  be  that  easy 
offendit,"  she  retorted,  pleasantly. 
"Gang  on  wi'  yer  crack." 

"Weel,"  he  said,  quickly  recovering 
his  good-humor — "weel,  Mistress  Wal- 
lace, what  wud  ye  say  if  I  tell't  ye  I  had 
been  struck  by  an  idear?" 
278 


Jess    &    Co.  v 

"I  wud  say  ye  sud  be  thenkfu'  ye 
hadna  been  struck  by  onythin'  harder." 
Mrs.  Wallace  chuckled,  and  began  to 
polish  the  front  of  the  mantel -piece  as 
if  she  desired  to  remove  the  paint. 
"Whit  wis  the  idear,  Maister  Ogilvy?" 

"Maybe  ye'll  no'  approve  o'  't." 

"That's  likely;  but  tell  us  aboot  it." 

"Weel,  I  was  thinkin'  it  micht  be  a 
gratify  in'  thing  to  the  freens  of  David 
an'  Jess  if  I  was  to  organize  a  deputa- 
tion o'  welcome  to  be  at  the  pier  on — 

"Organize  yer  Auntie  Kate!"  cried 
Mrs.  Wallace. 

"I  was  feart  ye  wudna  approve,"  he 
said,  with  a  sigh.  "But  I  thocht  it 
wud — 

"Na,  na.  I  ken  ye  meant  weel, 
Maister  Ogilvy,  but  ma  advice  to  you 
is  to  let  Jess  an'  her  man  get  aff  the  boat 
wi'oot  ony — " 

"Demonstration,  Mistress  Wallace?" 

"Hullabaloo,  an'  let  them  get  hame 
as  quick  an'  as  quate  as  they  can.  If 
ye  like,  ye  can  organize  yersel'  to  luk 
efter  the  boax  an'  ony  paircels  Jess 
brings  wi'  her,  an'  see  that  they're 
brocht  here  wi'oot  delay." 

"'Deed,  I'll  dae  that  wi'  the  utmaist 
pleesure,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvy,  brightening. 
"I'll  bring  them  masel',  for  I  want  to  get 
279 


Jess    &    Co. 

a  word  wi'  Mistress  Houston  as  shin  as 
possible.  I  daur  say  ye 're  richt  aboot 
ha'ein'  nae  demonstration,  Mistress  Wal- 
lace. Efter  a',  it  micht  prove  a  com- 
plete fisco,  so  to  speak." 

"A  whit?" 

"A  fisco — a  failure,  Mistress  Wallace." 

"Aw,  ye've  been  at  yer  detective 
stories  again!  I  wisht  ye  wud  speak 
words  that  dacent  folk  can  unnerstaun." 

"I  read  the  word  in  a  bookie  ca'ed 
Fashionable  Society,  that  a  leddy  left  in 
the  shop  the  ither  day,  an'  it  struck  me 
as  a  word  fu'  o'  meanin',"  said  Mr.  Ogil- 
vy,  with  dignity.  "I  see  nae  reason 
why  I  sudna  improve  ma  mind  when  I 
get  the  chance,  Mistress  Wallace." 

"Neither  dae  I,"  she  returned,  dryly. 
"May  ye  get  plenty  chances,  is  a'  I  can 
say,  an'  no'  end  wi'  bein'  a  fisco,  as  ye 
ca'  it." 

Mr.  Ogilvy  sighed.  "Ye're  awfu' 
severe  on  a  man,  Mistress  Wallace,"  he 
said,  despondently.  "If  ye  kent  hoo 
deeply  I  deplore  ma  insuffeeciency,  as 
it  were,  an'  hoo  sairly  I  feel  yer — yer — " 

"Ye  micht  step  ben  to  the  kitchen, 
Maister  Ogilvy,  an'  see  if  Katie's  sleep- 
in',  an'  bring  me  the  wee  brush  that 
ye'll  fin'  in  the  middle  drawer  o'  the 
dresser." 

280 


Jess    &    Co. 

"I'll  dae  that,"  he  said,  rising. 
"There's  no'  mony  things  I  wudna  dae 
for  ye,"  he  stammered  from  the  door- 
way. 

"An'  ye  micht  pit  a  bit  coal  on  the 
kitchen  fire  when  ye're  at  it.  See  an' 
no'  mak'  a  noise." 

"I'll  endeavor  to  create  as  little  dis- 
turbance as  possible,  Mistress  Wallace," 
he  said,  solemnly,  lingering  in  the  door- 
way, as  if  making  up  his  mind  to  say 
more. 

"I'm  waitin'  on  the  brush,"  said  Mrs. 
Wallace,  breaking  an  oppressive  silence. 

The  grocer  disappeared.  "Samuel 
Ogilvy,"  he  said,  to  himself,  "if  it  wasna 
that  ye  kep'  a  grocer's  shop,  ye  wud  be 
faur  better  dumb!" 

On  his  returning  with  the  information 
and  the  article  she  required,  Mrs.  Wal- 
lace thanked  him  briefly  and  motioned 
him  to  the  sofa.  Then,  before  he  found 
time  to  make  any  remark,  had  he  de- 
sired to  do  so,  she  abruptly  put  the  ques- 
tion: 

"D'ye  think  I  cud  keep  a  secret, 
Maister  Ogilvy?" 

"A  secret?"  he  exclaimed,  surprised. 
"What  kin'  o'  a  secret?" 

"Never  heed.     But  I  wis  speirin'  if 
ye  thocht  7  cud  keep  a  secret  ?" 
281 


Jess    &    Co. 

The  grocer  scratched  his  nose  thought- 
fully. "  It's  a  queerlike  question.  Ha'e 
ye  gotten  a  secret,  Mistress  Wallace?" 

"Dizzens!  But  I  want  anither  yin! 
Dae  ye  think  I  cud  keep  it,  or  dae  ye 
believe  the  sayin'  that  a  wumman  canna 
keep  a  secret?" 

"Some  sayin 's  is  open  to  improve- 
ment," he  returned,  slowly.  "No'  bein' 
a  connoozier,  as  it  were,  o'  female  nat- 
ures, I  canna  venture  to  gi'e  ye  a  fixed 
an'  definite  opeenion,  but — " 

"I'm  no'  heedin'  aboot  yer  opeenion — 
I  want  yer  answer  to  ma  first  question. 
Dae  ye  think  I  cud  keep — 

"Ay,  Mistress  Wallace.  I  ha'e  nae 
hesitation  in  replyin'  to  yer  query  in  the 
affirmative." 

"I  think  ye've  had  plenty  hesitation, 
but  I'm  gled  ye  think  I  cud  keep  a  se- 
cret, fur  I  want  ye  to  tell  me  yer  ain." 

"Mines!"  he  cried,  taken  aback,  his 
countenance  reddening  deeply. 

"Ay,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace,  smiling 
kindly.  "Yer  ain  secret.  But  ye  need- 
na  be  in  a  hurry,  fur  I  see  ye 're  a  bit 
pit  aboot  at  me  guessin'  the  truth.  I'll 
jist  gang  on  wi'  ma  wark  till  ye 're  ready 
to  tell  me."  And  she  fell  to  with  the 
brush. 

A  prey  to  conflicting  emotions,  the 
282 


Jess    &    Co. 

grocer  sat  bolt  upright  on  the  sofa,  star- 
ing in  front  of  him,  but  seeing  nothing. 
"Samuel  Ogilvy,"  he  said,  to  himself, 
"she's  gaun  to  gi'e  ye  yer  chance  at 
last!  Speak  oot,  man,  an'  lay  yer  secret 
bare.  .  .  .  Oh,  me!  What  '11  I  say?" 

He  cleared  his  throat  several  times, 
wiped  his  brow,  moistened  his  lips,  and 
after  a  vain  attempt  or  two  at  speech 
said,  huskily: 

' '  Mistress — Mistress  Wallace. ' ' 

"Weel,  Maister  Ogilvy?"  —  encour- 
agingly. 

Once  more  he  coughed  and  moistened 
his  lips. 

"Mistress  Wallace,"  he  began,  in 
nervous  tones,  "in  regard  to  the — the 
state  o'  ma  affections — I  micht  say  ma 
humble  but  sincere  affections — I  mean 
the  affections  o'  ma  secret  he'rt  respectin' 
yer — " 

Mrs.  Wallace  let  her  brush  fall  with  a 
clatter  on  the  fender.  "Did  ye  hear 
Katie  cryin'  the  noo?"  she  asked,  and 
without  waiting  for  a  reply  from  Mr. 
Ogilvy,  who  would  probably  have  been 
unable  to  make  one,  she  hurried  from 
the  room. 

She  was  absent  five  minutes,  and  on 
her  return  Mr.  Ogilvy,  having  in  the  in- 
terval called  himself  a  number  of  un- 
'9  283 


Jess    &    Co. 

complimentary  names,  was  almost  re- 
covered. Her  first  words,  however, 
threw  him  once  more  into  an  excited 
condition. 

"Weel,  Maister  Ogilvy,"  she  said, 
cheerfully,  "ye  wis  gaun  to  tell  me  aboot 
the  siller  auld  Angus  left  to  Jess. 
Katie's  a'  richt,  so  ye  can  gang  on  wi' 
the  story." 

"  Eh  ?"  he  cried,  stupidly. 

"Tits,  man!"  she  returned,  looking 
up  from  her  work  and  chuckling,  "ye 
needna  mak'  a  secret  o'  it  ony  langer  to 
me,  onywey." 

"But — but  I  promised  Angus  no'  to 
tell  onybody  but  Jess.  She'll  tell  ye 
hersel*  a'  aboot  it  the  morn,  Mistress 
Wallace." 

"But  I  want  to  ken  the  nicht.  I 
thocht  ye  said  ye  cud  trust  me,  Maister 
Ogilvy." 

"I  did  that,  an'  I'll  say  it  again, 
Mistress  Wallace,  if  ye  like;  but  this  is 
the  secret  I  canna  tell  ye.  Hoo  did  ye 
ken  Angus  Eraser  had  left  a  bit  siller  to 
yer  niece?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

"Jist  because  he  tell't  me,"  she  re- 
plied, turning  and  facing  him.  "The 
puir  man  tell't  me  twa-three  days  afore 
he  dee'd,  an'  he  askit  me  to  tak'  chairge 
o'  't,  seem'  I  wis  the  lass's  auntie,  but  I 
284 


Jess    &    Co. 

tell't  him  to  gi'e  it  to  yersel',  fur  I  ha'e 
nae  place  in  ma  hoose  fur  keepin'  ither 
folk's  siller.     So,  ye  see,  Maister  Ogilvy, 
it  wisna  a'  yer  ain  secret  efter  a'." 
"So  it  seems,"  he  admitted,  nervous- 

iy- 

"An'  a'  I  want  to  ken  is  hoo  muckle 
siller  he  left  her.  It's  no'  jist  curiosity, 
fur  I've  a  wee  bit  siller  o'  ma  ain,  an' — 
an'  I'm  fond  o'  Jess." 

The  grocer  sat  looking  at  his  feet,  his 
hands  on  his  knees. 

Mrs.  Wallace  broke  the  silence.  "  It  '11 
hurt  naebody  to  tell  me,"  she  said,  per- 
suasively. 

"Ye — ye're  a  kind  wumman,  Mistress 
Wallace.  .  .  .  But  did  Angus  no'  tell  ye 
the — the  amount?" 

"Ay.    He  had  it  in  a  wee  boax,  an'— 

"Ye  seen  it  ?"  Mr.  Ogilvy  gasped,  and 
gripped  his  knees. 

She  nodded.  "An'  he  said  he  thocht 
he  wud  be  able  to  add  somethin'  mair 
afore  he  gaed  awa',  puir  man.  But  I 
doot  he  didna  manage  that.  .  .  .  Still,  I 
wud  like  to  ken  if — " 

The  anxiety  had  cleared  from  Mr. 
Ogilvy's  face,  and  he  rubbed  his  hands 
gently  together  as  he  interrupted  Mrs. 
Wallace. 

"'Deed,  ay!  He  wud  add  somethin' 
285 


Jess    &    Co. 

efter  ye  seen  the  boax,  nae  doot,  an' 
afore  he  gi'ed  it  to  me.  Ye  can  coont 
on  that,  Mistress  Wallace,"  he  went  on, 
rapidly.  "Ye  see,  Angus  was  rale  eco- 
nomical efter  his  sister  dee'd,  an'hemaun 
ha'e  saved  faur  mair  siller  nor  onybody 
had  a  notion  o'.  Ay!  In  fac',  I  wudna 
wonder  if  ye  was  surprised  at  the  siller 
he  left!" 

"There  wis  fifteen  pound  in  the  boax 
when  I  seen  it,"  she  said,  "an'  I  thocht 
that  wis  big  savin's  fur  puir  auld  Angus." 

Mr.  Ogilvy  burst  into  a  loud  laugh 
that  startled  himself  as  well  as  his  host- 
ess. 

Mrs.  Wallace  stared  at  him. 

"I  beg  yer  paurdon,"  he  said,  after  a 
short  pause,  "but  did  ye — did  ye  coont 
the  siller  in  the  boax  ?" 

"I  did,  fur  Angus  askit  me  to  coont 
it." 

Again  the  grocer  laughed  loudly,  and 
also  rather  wildly.  "Fifteen  pound!" 
he  cried.  "I  doot  Angus  was  ha'ein'  a 
joke  wi'  ye.  Fifteen  pound!  It  bates 
a'!  I — I  wonder  whaur  the  ither  hun- 
ner  pound  was  that  day." 

"The  whit?"  shouted  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"The  ither  hunner  pound.  The  siller 
in  the  boax  is  a  hunneP  an'  fifteen  pound, 
neither  mair  nor  less,"  returned  the 
286 


Jess    &    Co. 

grocer,  his  voice  beginning  loud  and 
ending  faint.  He  leaned  back  on  the 
arm  of  the  sofa  and  shook  with  laughter. 

"Say  it  again,"  she  cried,  coming 
across  the  floor  to  him. 

But  he  could  not  just  then.  Mr.  Ogil- 
vy  was  suffering  from  a  mild  attack  of 
hysteria. 

For  nearly  a  minute  Mrs.  Wallace  re- 
garded him  inquiringly,  and  when  she 
spoke  her  voice  was  well  under  control. 

"Ye're  no'  deceivin'  me,  are  ye?" she 
said,  quietly. 

"Deceivin'  ye!"  He  started,  and  be- 
came grave.  "Dae  ye — dae  ye  no'  be- 
lieve ma  word?"  He  wished  he  could 
meet  her  gaze.  "  Dae  ye  no'  believe  that 
there's  a — a  hunner  an'  fifteen  pound  in 
the  boax  waitin'  for  Mistress  Houston 
comin'  hame  the  morn?  Wull  I  gang 
to  the  shop  an'  bring  back  the  boax  for 
ye  to  see?" 

"Na,  na.  Ye  needna  dae  that,"  she 
replied,  after  some  little  hesitation.  "I'll 
tak'  yer  word  fur  't,  Maister  Ogilvy. 
But  I  canna  unnerstaun  whaur  puir 
Angus  got  a'  the  siller." 

"Weel,"  said  the  grocer,  recovering 

himself,  "we  maun  jist  regaird  that  as 

yin  o'  thae  mysterious  occurrences  that 

— that  occasionally  occurs  to  baffle  the 

287 


Jess    &    Co. 

highest  intelligence,  as  it  were.  An' 
efter  a'  it  was  puir  auld  Angus 's  busi- 
ness, an'  neither  yours  nor  mines,  Mis- 
tress Wallace.  Is  that  no'  the  case?" 
He  ventured  to  glance  at  her,  but  she 
seemed  wrapt  in  thought. 

"Moreover,"  he  went  on,  gaining  con- 
fidence, "whatever  wey  Angus  cam'  by 
the  siller,  he  cam'  by  it  honest -like.  I'll 
sweer  to  that!  An' — an',  oh!  Mistress 
Wallace,  conseeder  what  it  '11  mean  to 
yer  niece!  The  vera  thocht  o'  that  sud 
gar  ye  feel  like  a — a  young  lion — or, 
mair  corre'ly,  like  a  young  lioness! 
Does  it  no'  ?" 

Mrs.  Wallace  turned  her  back  on  him 
and  went  to  the  window,  where  she 
stood  looking  out  on  the  calm,  dusky 
loch. 

"It  gars  me  feel,"  she  murmured, 
"  like  an  auld  wife  that's  leeved  to  see  her 
dearest  get  her  reward.  .  .  .  Maister 
Ogilvy,  ye  can  obleege  me  by  takin'  the 
brush  frae  the  fender  an'  pittin'  it  whaur 
ye  got  it  in  the  kitchen  dresser.  An' 
say  nae  mair  aboot  the  siller,  man,  fur 
—I — I  canna  thole  the  mention  o'  't  the 
noo." 

"Aw,  Mistress  Wallace!"  he  sighed. 

"Tak'  the  brush  to  the  kitchen!"  she 
snapped. 

288 


Jess    &    Co. 

He  crossed  the  room  and  picked  up 
the  brush,  and  threw  it  down  again. 

"Mistress  Wallace,"  he  cried,  ex- 
citedly, "yer  brush  can  lie  there  till  the 
last  trumpet  for  a*  I  care,  for  I  tell  ye 
I'm  no'  gaun  to  be  treatit  like  as  if  I 
was  a — a  servile  reptile!" 

To  his  intense  astonishment  she  paid 
no  attention  whatever  to  his  outburst, 
but  continued  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

Stupidly  he  stood,  gazing  at  her. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  faint  sound  and 
saw  her  hands  go  up  quickly  to  her  face. 

"Oh,  me!"  he  whispered  to  himself, 
awe-stricken,  "she — she's  cryin'." 

He  took  a  step  towards  her,  checked 
himself,  turned,  picked  up  the  brush, 
and  stole  noiselessly  to  the  kitchen. 
"Samuel  Ogilvy,"  he  muttered,  "ye 
best  gang  stracht  hame  an'  pit  yer  ugly 
heid  in  yer  stootest  broon-paper  poke, 
for  ye 're  the  maist  meeserable  speci- 
men o'  the  human  race — nae  guid  to 
onybody  an'  nae  guid  to  yersel'!" 

There  was  a  slate  and  pencil  lying  on 
the  dresser,  and  he  picked  up  the  latter 
and  wrote: 

"  Good-night.  Beg  pardon.  Will  attend 
to  esteemed  orders  to-morrow.  Beg  pardon. 

"  S.  OGILVY." 
289 


Jess    &    Co. 

He  placed  the  slate  where  she  would 
see  it  on  entering  the  kitchen,  and  de- 
parted quietly  by  the  back  door. 

But  as  he  passed  round  the  front  of 
the  cottage,  Mrs.  Wallace  tapped  on  the 
window  and  threw  it  open. 

"Maister  Ogilvy!" 

He  halted,  and  was  relieved  to  see  her 
countenance  wearing  its  usual  expres- 
sion. 

"  Weel,  Mistress  Wallace?"  he  replied, 
awkwardly. 

"Ye'll  be  at  the  pier  the  morn?" 

"  Certaintly . " 

"I'll  bide  here  wi'  Katie  an'  ha'e  the 
tea  ready.  An' — an',  Maister  Ogilvy — " 

"Weel,  Mistress  Wallace?" 

"Davie's  shair  to  get  the  nursery 
noo?" 

"Shair!  At  least,  Jess  '11  ha'e  the  siller." 

"Ay.  But  there's  nae  fear  o'  it  bein' 
ower  late  ?  There's  nae  fear  o'  Maister 
Davison  ha'ein*  sell't  it  to  anither 
pairty  ?" 

"  Na,  na.  I  seen  aboot  that.  Ye  see, 
when  I  kent  aboot  the  legacy,  as  it  were, 
I  jist  gaed  an'  had  a  bit  crack  wi'  Davi- 
son, an'  tell't  him  he  wasna  to  pairt  wi' 
his  nursery  for  three  month,  an'  he 
wasna  to  ask  ony  questions." 

"My!  ye've  a  neck  on  ye!"  exclaimed 
290 


Jess    &    Co. 

Mrs.  Wallace,  admiringly.     "Whit   did 
he  say?" 

"He  tell't  me  to  gang  awa'  an'  droon 
masel'.  But  I  said  I  wud  prefer  to 
wait  an'  see  him  hanged.  An'  efter  a 
wheen  mair  compliments  o'  the  same 
nature,  we  cam'  to  business.  I  gi'ed 
him  ma  bill  at  three  month." 

"Ye  mean  ye've  bocht  his  place?" 

"  Weel,"  said  the  grocer,  smiling,  "I'll 
ha'e  to  tak'  it,  if  Davie  doesna.  So  dinna 
gang  an'  advise  Jess  to  pit  her  siller  in 
the  bank.  I've  a  grocer's  shop  to  keep, 
an'  that's  bad  enough  wi'oot  ha'ein'  a 
white  elephant  as  weel." 

"A  whit?" 

"A  white  elephant,  Mistress  Wallace. 
It's  a  feegure  o'  speech,  ye  ken,  mean- 
in' — " 

"I  thocht  it  wis  a  beast.  But  never 
heed  the  meanin'.  I  maun  say,  Maister 
Ogilvy,  that  ye've  been  an  unco  guid 
freen  to  ma  Jess  an'  her  man.  But  I 
doot  when  they  hear  whit  ye've  done  for 
them,  they'll— 

"Whisht,  Mistress  Wallace!  Ye — ye 
maun  keep  that  secret.  Oh,  ye  maun 
keep  that  secret!"  he  implored. 

"  It  '11  come  oot  whether  I  tell  them  or 
no',"  she  said.  "But  I'll  no'  tell,"  she 
added,  gently. 

291 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Thenk  ye,  thenk  ye,"  he  returned, 
gratefully.  "Noo  the  hale  show's  gaun 
to  turn  oot  fine!  The  Wilkie  lads  '11  be 
makin'  David  an  offer  for  the  business 
as  shin  as  they  get  the  chance,"  he  went 
on,  jubilantly,  "an'  then  it  '11  a'  gang 
merry  like  a  marriage  bell,  as  the  poet 
says."  Here  Mr.  Ogilvy  became  red 
and  confused.  "It  '11  be  a'  richt,  ony- 
wey,"  he  supplemented,  hurriedly. 

"  'Deed,  ay!"  murmured  Mrs.  Wallace, 
softly.  "An'  d'ye  ken,  Maister  Ogilvy, 
anither  thing  that's  pleased  me  fine  the 
day?  I  heard  Maister  Dobbie  wisna 
comin'  to  Kinlochan  ony  mair." 

"An"  it's  true!  There's  anither  man 
comes  in  his  place  noo  to  inspec'  the 
hooses.  Dobbie  cudna  thole  Tousie 
Tarn  aye  meetin'  him  at  the  boat  an' 
rinnin'  efter  him  near  a'  day,  an'  seein' 
him  on  to  the  boat  again,  an'  forever 
speirin'  the  rent.  Tarn  had  a  rhyme, 
ye  ken,  aboot: 

"  '  Haw,  Mister  Dobbie, 

Wi'  yer  twa  rooms  an'  lobby!' 

an'  a'  the  weans  tuk  it  up  an'  cried  it 
efter  him." 

"Mphm!     I've  heard  it,"    said  Mrs. 
Wallace,   chuckling.     "An'    I've    heard 
292 


Jess    &    Co. 

furbye  that  Tarn  gets  a  heap  o'  sweeties 
at  Maister  Ogilvy's  shop  nooadays." 

The  grocer  hung  his  head.  "The 
warld  is  fu'  o'  strange  coincidences,"  he 
stammered,  "an*  Kinlochan's  nae  ex- 
ception. .  .  .  Weel,  it's  time  I  was  awa' 
hame.  I'll  see  ye  the  morn's  efternune 
when  I  come  wi'  the  boax  an'  the  pair- 
eels." 

"Ay.  An'  I've  got  ma  wark  to  dae, 
so  I'll  bid  ye  guid-nicht,  Maister  Ogilvy. 
But  bide  a  meenit.  Eh — wis  there  no' 
a  paper  in  the  boax  wi'  the  siller  ye  got 
frae  Angus — a  kin'  o'  wull?"  she  asked. 

He  started,  but  controlled  himself. 
"There  was  a  paper,  Mistress  Wallace, 
an'  nae  doot  ye'll  see  it  in  the  morn. 
It  '11  no'  be  the  same  as  the  yin  ye  seen 
yersel',  I  preshume." 

"I  didna  say  I  seen  ony  paper,"  she 
returned,  quietly.  "But,  as  ye  say,  I'll 
see  it  the  morn.  Guid-nicht  to  ye — soon' 
sleep — an' — an'  may  ye  get  yer  reward." 

She  shut  the  window,  and  watched 
him  as  he  went  down  the  path. 

"A  guid  man,  but  a  bad  leear,"  she 
said,  to  herself.  "I'll  see  he  gets  his 
money  back  some  day." 

Mr.  Ogilvy  had  prepared  a  somewhat 
elaborate  speech  of  welcome,  but  when 
293 


Jess    &    Co. 

Jess  Houston  and  her  husband  stepped 
from  the  gangway,  it  was  reduced  to, 
"My!  I'm  rale  gled  to  see  ye  back. 
Gang  on  to  the  hoose,  an'  I'll  luk  efter 
yer  luggage." 

It  was  a  dull  day,  but  Jess  thought  she 
had  never  seen  Kinlochan  looking  so 
lovely,  and  she  told  her  husband  so,  as 
they  went  along  the  road,  after  having 
returned  the  kindly  greetings  of  many 
of  the  village  folk. 

"Ay;  the  place  is  lukin'  fine,  noo," 
said  David,  gravely.  "Oh,  wife,  I'll 
be  gled  to  see  ye  in  the  hoose  again!" 

"And  I'll  be  glad  to  be  there,  Davie," 
she  answered,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh. 

The  remainder  of  the  way  was  passed 
in  silence,  for  they  had  discussed  many 
things  on  the  journey,  everything,  in- 
deed, except  the  thing  which  lay  like  an 
ache  on  her  heart,  and  which  did  not 
seem  to  affect  him  in  the  least.  Only 
she  appeared  to  have  any  bitter  recol- 
lection of  the  sweet,  brief  triumph  of 
three  months  ago.  She  had  been  the 
one  to  gather  up  the  fragments  of  the 
cup — the  loving-cup — which  had  slipped 
between  them  ere  they  had  more  than 
sipped  its  sweetness,  while  he  had  been 
content,  or,  at  least,  resigned,  to  let 
them  lie  as  they  fell.  The  regret,  the 
294 


Jess    &    Co. 

companion  of  the  longing  that  had  been 
with  Jess  through  the  weeks  of  conva- 
lescence, came  with  her  to  the  very  gate 
of  her  home. 

But  there  it  met  with  a  check. 
.    David  pushed  open  the  gate,  and  put 
his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Are  ye  happy,  Jess?"  he  whispered. 

She  looked  up  at  him  for  an  instant, 
and  saw  his  eyes  as  she  had  never  seen 
them  before.  Happy?  Here  was  her 
man ;  her  child  and  her  home  were  within 
a  few  yards  of  her.  Why,  woman  alive! 
it  was  the  happiest  of  all  her  hours! 

He  patted  her  shoulder.  "Haste  ye 
to  the  wee  yin,"  he  said,  smiling. 

Mrs.  Wallace  met  her  at  the  door, 
kissed  her,  muttered,  "Ye're  no'  lukin' 
sae  bad,  ma  lass,"  and  gave  her  a  push 
in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen,  whence 
a  small  voice  was  heard  babbling  mer- 
rily. As  Mr.  Ogilvy  subsequently  ob- 
served, "There's  no'  anither  female  in 
existence  but  wud  ha'e  sp'iled  the  hale 
show  by  ha'ein'  the  wean  in  her  airms 
at  the  door.  I'll  back  her  for  tact,  the 
Royal  Faym'ly  no'  exceptit.  Ay!" 

After  a  discreet  delay  the  grocer  ar- 
rived in  his  cart  with  the  box  and  par- 
cels. 

Mr.  Ogilvy,  who  was  wearing  his  tight 
295 


Jess    &    Co. 

felt  hat  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  was 
puffing  with  excitement  and  heat,  but 
refused  to  take  a  seat  and  wait  for  a  cup 
of  tea. 

"I  maun  flee  awa'  back  to  the  receipt 
o'  custom,  as  it  were,"  he  explained,  "or 
the  simmer  veesitors  '11  be  thinkin'  I  jist 
keep  a  shop  for  fun — which  is  a  thing 
naebody  but  weans  an'  loonattics  wud 
dae.  But  I'll  see  ye  shin,  I  hope,  an'— 
an',  Mistress  Houston,  here's  a  wee  pair- 
cel  for  yersel' — parteeclars  within,  so  to 
speak.  Ye  can  open  it  later  on.  It  '11 
no'  spile.  An'  here  twa-three  sticks  o' 
baurley  sugar  for  Katie,  wi'  ma  respec's. 
An' — weel,  guid  fortune  attend  ye  a' — 
an'  guid -bye  the  noo." 

He  shook  hands  heartily  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Houston,  looked  for  a  moment  as  if 
he  would  kiss  Katie,  but  lacked  the  cour- 
age, and  was  going  to  shake  hands  with 
Mrs.  Wallace  when  he  noticed  that  she, 
too,  was  preparing  to  depart.  Jess  and 
David  had  cordially  invited  the  aunt 
to  remain,  but  she  had  stoutly  refused. 

"Na,  na!  Thenk  ye  a' the  same.  Ye'll 
get  plenty  o'  me  yet.  An',  furbye,  I'm 
wearyin'  fur  ma  ain  hoose.  .  .  .  David 
Houston,"  she  went  on,  raising  her  voice, 
"did  I  ever  mention  to  ye  that  ma  coal- 
cellar  door  wis  wantin'  a  lock?" 
296 


Jess    &    Co. 

"Ye  did,  Mistress  Wallace,"  said  Da- 
vid, reddening. 

Mrs.  Wallace  chuckled,  and  held  out 
her  hand.  "Never  heed,  Davie.  It's 
the  last  time  I'll  speak  aboot  it.  You  an' 
Jess  '11  come  toyer  tea  the  morn's  nicht, 
an'  ha'e  a  crack  aboot — ha!  ha!  ha! — 
ither  maitters.  Eh,  Maister  Ogilvy? 
Ha!  ha!" 

The  grocer  slid  to  the  door.  "I  wud 
be  pleased  to  tak'  yer  paircels  in  the 
cairt,  Mistress  Wallace,"  he  said. 

"Thenk  ye,"  she  returned,  following 
him. 

"You  should  go  in  the  cart,  too, 
aunt,"  put  in  Jess,  from  the  doorstep, 
with  her  daughter  in  her  arms. 

''Deed,  ay!"  said  David,  winking  at 
his  wife. 

"I — I'll  be  rale  prood,"  said  the 
grocer,  bashfully. 

Mrs.  Wallace  looked  from  one  to  the 
other.  Her  eyes  twinkled,  and  she 
smiled  faintly. 

"  Weel,  weel,"  she  said,  as  she  stepped 
on  to  the  path,  "seein'  that  Maister 
Ogilvy  an'  me  are  gaun  the  same  road, 
we  micht  jist  as  weel  gang  thegither." 


THE    END 


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